Know ye there is life beneath
frozen earth
protecting seed
oh potentiality
the virgin bride awaits the groom.

Slash the grasses that have died
prepare her with annoint of fire.
This winter field has long been dead.
Prepare ye now the nuptial bed--
sanctify and bless the womb.

I rid my self's futility--
Brigid--she does dwell in me!
I invoke the light of bliss
and dance in praise of Candlemas--
alive in strobe of flickering.

Tears and sweat
with ash of death
are talcum for the winter's bane.
Torch the tomb of my regret
prepare the garden to beget
till the ground of sad refrain--
I stand in praise of quickening.