Winter Calend, hard the grain
At winter Calends, hard is the grain
the leaves are drifting, the pool is full
in the morning, before he embarks, woe to he who trusts a stranger
At winter Calends, wonderful mysteries
Where wind and storm keep pace
A fair task, the concealing of secrets
At winter Calends the stags are lean
The birch's crown is yellow, empty the summer dwelling
Deserving of woe, the disgraced sinner.
At winter Calends bowed are the stalks of straw
It is customary for the wicked to spout unrest
where there is no talent there can be no learning.
At winter Calaends the weather is rough
not like to summer's start
except for god, there is no mage
At winter Calends, glory the song
of birds. short the day, loud the coockoo
mercy the purpose of god, the best
At winter Calends, 'tis hard and dry
pitch dark the raven, fleet the strong
at the stumble of the old, laugh merrily will the young
At winter Calends, lean be the deer
Woe to the weak when 'sirs' are mute
Indeed, 'tis better the ugly than the fair
At winter Calends, meagre the fires
and the plough in the furrow, the ox at work
from the hundred there is hardly a companion.
