Upon the frozen fields where frost doth bite,
The barren earth seems locked in winter’s chain.
Yet ‘neath the snow, a promise glimmers bright,
And dreams of spring within the heart remain.
For through the night’s cold veil of dread and blight,
The hunter wields his artful black powder’s might.
Its thunder splits the heavens, fierce and raw,
And bends the beast beneath its mortal law.
But lo, though courage crowns the valiant fight,
The toll of labor finds a bitter bane.
For kings and lords, in greed, do claim their right,
And tax the hand that wrought their gilded gain.
Thus winter yields, yet man remains oppressed—
The fields may bloom, but burdens steal his rest.
