When winter springs and summer falls,
The world takes another spin.
How, then, does renaissance fall
Upon the while the year is in mid-march?
Why not once it’s born again,
Passed that of yesteryear,
Before the new year starts?
Why not in January”
The month of deathly scenes yet of lively spirit,
The beginning and the end,
Of what is to come and what is gone,
Nowhere to look but hence?
In January, then,
Our rebirths commend.