“Vanirs lord and king of Elves,Sap is rising in the tree trunk, Frey stands proud and spring time young, Hail thou warm time, Lust and life from Sunnas light,Sap is rising in the tree trunk, Gifts of Gods to mankinds homes, Hail thou warm time, Song of birds and mankinds choirs, Sap is rising in the tree trunk, Born is that which never dies, Hail thou warm time, Hail to Aering Hail to Frith, Sap is rising in the tree trunk, Hail to this our custom is, Hail thou warm time, “
Needs some tweeking to fit better with the melody, but..
“i’ll write you a sonnet,” he said. “words,” she replied. “i’ll sing you a song,” he prompted. “lyrics,” she hummed. “i’ll paint the beauty of night in your shape of your eyes,” he chimed. “lines… colors,” she bade. “then what ever shall i do, to prove my love?” he sighed. “nothing,” she paused. “nothing?” he retorted. “just gaze,” she offered.