There is no need
For summer's heat
To rise
Nothing killed
In this world
Truly dies
They are the water
That feeds the roots
Of new creations,
Life from barren snow

So ends one journey
Through burning December
Is this the end of all trials
Or will more be lost and found?

What was once poison
Could raise the dead to life
Let there be woven a wreath
Of hemlock for the mourners
The shroud is knitted shut,
The coffin's sealed and silent,
A cold spirit waits, anticipating light
When can we rise above the firn
When can we taste the rain again?
When will there be mist
Instead of ice and smoke?

This is the end
And the beginning
Out of the forest I came,
This winter's Aconite.

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