Our eleventh year,
a time to reflect
on Winter's past and old.
A time of contemplation,
as an emblazoned Big Willie burns.
Mud, embers, art and laughter,
stomping boots and warming cider.
Apple trees wassailed
by the Morris dancing
a community of revellers romancing
Join with us
in the depths of our Mid-Winter
for the last toast,
before we hang up our tatters
and bang our pots and pans.
For the final time
we Wassail thee
old apple tree
dancing hand in hand.