Chasing The Stag

Already coming up
That what is hidden
Rise out of the snowy ground
Patience, anticipation of summer
Too soon, 'll only get you scorched

Seven tines of the antlers
Are the seven months
That'll bring you round to June
Either way you go

But winter's keening is letting go
If not, it knows within it's bone
'This will not last'.

Harrying, the hounds of winter
Chase the stag to summer dales
Wait, be patient.
Rise out of the ground, too soon
'll only get you scorched