Winter moonrise haunts us to cold,

But the new round unfolds,

With the first light of the dawn,

Here comes January

 

The hourglass of February never misses count,

The lady of shallot waiting for her knight to come

 

Dry as March is, hopes and expectations it brings,

No more weaving and mirror staring

 

April arrives, with its sweet-smelling showers,

The pilgrimage starts,

But Lancelort is never seen

 

May comes with the fragrance of berries,

Sweet days, sweet roses,

The tempting season triggers bold ideas

 

June is the time to go wild

Running with no fear,

The young lady breathing the fresh air

 

Hot July, mid-summer night,

Girls dance in circles,

So alive and hotter than the sun

 

August appears with glamorous sheen,

The immotal bird falls in love with easeful death,

The cursed lady blooming and fading

 

Sorrow and scarlet leaf,

The glory and the grief,

All covered by September whistles

 

October fields of barley and rye,

That clothe the world and meet the sky,

And through the field the road runs by,

The damsel has no chance to have last glimpse

 

Drenched in cold morning dew,

The knights come two and two,

Riding past the Camelot,

Disappearing in November purple dawn

 

Year in and year out,

Here comes the end yet the other round,

Far away down the Camelot,

No girl is weaving and sigh,

Silence of winter not even shows a sign.

 


Photos