In the bleak mid winter❄️

When footprints throughout forest floors were well trodden with white snow

As budding blossoms clandestinely coveted, amidst the soily earth below 

And scattered seeds were sown from feathered friends, on our Mother natures bestow

Echoing could be heard from those church bells in the town

Where inside that spire and steeple, the parish priest wore his holy gown

And on each and every sabbath day all of the people would go down

To pray to the good Lord up above, our majestic master of renown

Now that bleak mid winters day is upon us all once more

Whilst whistles from the wild windiness blows at our back door 

As yon breaking waves bellow out their ferocious, thunderous clap and roar