In the jumping season,
There's a lot of dancing weather,
And the flying times go, "whoosh! whoosh!"
In the jumping season,
There's a lot of growing children
Who honor their Mother.
They give her verdant perfume
And jewels to deck her hair.
They suckle in warm brown and grey.
Then comes the burning and scorching,
After which Mother and her children shed their locks.
The silver paralyzes them,
And the jumping season's gone away.