To you I hear the oak tree call
In seasons plagued with death.
In winter and in colored fall
The leaves long for your breath.

The bear, just to sustain her life,
Crawls to the darkest cave.
The birds take off in southern flight
In hope of brighter days.

The crops are covered in the cold
For months they see no light.
Their roots are longing to be told
That winter lost the fight.

The sun will come and spring return
Our axis wills it so.
But until then our hearts will burn
With hope that light will grow.