Beneath the sky so dark and deep,
The earth lies still, in winter’s sleep.
Yet whispers stir through frost-clad air,
A promise woven soft and fair.
The holly stands with crimson crown,
The ivy winds where cold comes down.
Green guardians of the season’s cheer,
They hold the light through longest year.
The oak king falls; the holly reigns,
A cycle bound in nature’s chains.
Yet in the heart of darkest night,
The sun is born, a spark of light.
The yule log burns with warming glow,
Its embers dance where shadows grow.
A circle cast, a song begun,
To greet the waxing of the sun.
Oh ancient rites of fir and flame,
The gods are near; we call their name.
Brigid, Thor, and Frey draw near,
Their blessings light the waning year.
So raise the cup and feast with glee,
For love and joy shall ever be.
The wheel has turned; the light returns,
And in our hearts, the fire burns.
2024 ©️
The Royal Octopus 