Midnight fields [kyrielle]

Let us rejoice, winter's at hand!
The solstice shall be his adevnt!
Mad rapture spreads throughout the land!
Let us loose Bacchus, god of vine!

The hunt! The hunt! Glorious and free!
In midnight fields we find our fame,
Let's drink our way to victory!
Let us loose Bacchus, god of vine!

Through drunken steps did I pursue,
That which flits under thorn and bush.
I saw my arrow strike so true.
Let us loose Bacchus, god of vine!

Fire-drunken with eyes mad and wide,
I maimed a creature so divine.
So I felt the death of mine pride.
Let us loose Bacchus, god of vine!

So I have shed a thousand sighs,
For vine has thorns unseen and all.
Forever I will question why!
Let me lose Bacchus, god of wine!
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It's an entry for a poetry contest. The format's a kyrielle.

Devour.
Rinse.
Repeat.