In these our winter days
Death’s iron tongue is glib
Numbing with fear all flesh upon
A fiery-hearted globe
An age once green is buried
Numbered the hours of light
Blood-red across the snow our sun
Still trails his faint retreat
Spring through death’s iron gard
Her million blades shall thrust
Love that was sleeping not extinct
Throw off the nighmare crust
Eyes, though not ours, shall see
Sky-high a signal flame
The sun returned to power above
A world, but not the same.