Winter

Clouds charging across the daybroken sky,
Before the sun rises its rightful place.
A dead northern cold watched the summer die;
Set up a gloomy kingdom in its place.
Confident it would reign a thousand years
Over a desolate land without hope.
Governed by frosts and an edict of fears
Issued by the uncaring antipope.
But as close as its troops reach our threshold,
They cannot take our Asturian bed.
Keeping warm while we’re besieged by the cold;
Keeping light up against the frozen dead.
Keeping faith spring will return triumphant.
The empire of warmth once more restored
With the sweet sound of avian trumpets
Signaling defeat of the northern horde.
Victory will come with the rising sun,
And our jacketed armor will be shed.
Good will defeat evil; Thy will be done,
While chasing away the clouds overhead.