All: This Dharma, incomparably profound and subtle.
Chanter: Cold-hearted Winter, born of Stone and Hard Wind.
All: Your eyes cast no warmth. Your body emits only shadow.
Chanter: Sweet-Grass turns brittle. Bird-Song drops from the air.
All: You hate all merriment and song. You despise all warm drink.
Chanter: You mark time by Great-Oak’s snapping frost-laden branches.
All: While Ancient Mountain is embraced by Ice’s loveless stare.
Chanter: This Sutra of Winter punctuated by the soft moans of Cold.
All: Your only revelry – the song of sharp, cracking laughter.
Chanter: Kin-less and sad, alone on Northern shore.
All: Stay awhile in the Plains where Old Wind reigns.
Chanter: At night stroll forgotten roads with me.
All: Gleefully freezing dead all those we meet.
Chanter: Faith in the Seasons brings Clarity.
All: We now return the merit of our chanting to those cold of heart, mind and action.