There are names that bear both purple and cilice,
A blend of glory and sacred sacrifice.
Amédée steps forward, with a gentle gaze,
Letting fall the crown for the cry of fear.

He is no longer the lord of peaks and snow,
But the friend of the humble, far from vain illusions.
His hand is a spring, his heart a sanctuary,
Where evening shadows come to rest.
Yet beneath the grey robe, beneath the hermit’s calm,
Beats a passionate blood no law can restrain.

For Amédée is a man who gives himself to love,
Without counting the cost, without waiting for the day.
A raw strength that turns tender,
A warrior’s soul now trembling.

Tomorrow, let us raise the cup to this name of goodness,
To the sap that rises in humility.
For all Amédées, hearts of dignity,
May the celebration be rich and filled with truth.

There are names that carry the scent of earth and gorse,
The cry of cliffs and the echo of valleys.
Gwladys steps forward with a sovereign stride,
Letting a serene sap flow within her.

She has left behind the glitter of banquet halls,
To seek in the cold a purer language.
She is a woman of iron with a velvet gaze,
Who traded empire for a greater love.
Yet beneath the simple robe, beneath the hermit’s skin,
One feels a desire that no law can restrain.

For Gwladys is the hidden spring beneath granite,
A fire preserved, that never flees.
She is the naked queen, the wild poetry,
Who offers her wounds as a final tribute.

Tomorrow, let us raise a glass to this legendary name,
To the beauty of the gesture, to the soul that expands.
For all Gwladys, the free, the lovers,
May the feast be alive and the night trembling.

There are names that sound like ancient bronze,
An echo of battle and patrician blood.
Gontran steps forward, stripped of his purple,
Letting the sword fall, silenced at last.

He has known the storm, the cry, and the conquests,
Before seeking the shade after the tempests.
He is the king who bows, the lion at peace,
Finding beneath the robe a lingering ember.
For beneath skin hardened by iron winters,
Beats a poet’s heart, a breath of the sea.

He is no longer the lord of lands and plains,
But the lover of the poor, the healer of pain.
Yet in his gaze remains a hidden fire,
A thirst for raw life, a desire without regret.

Tomorrow, let us raise a glass to this name of courage,
To the man who breaks himself to turn the page.
For all Gontrans, kings of their own fate,
May the feast be true, from the break of day.

For true royalty, at the end of the long journey,
Is to offer one’s ruins as a final tribute.

There are names that carry velvet and honey,
A breath of desert beneath an endless sky.
Habib steps forward with a quiet certainty,
Leaving behind winter and its cold.

He is “the Beloved” to those who seek tenderness,
The one who turns shadow into a lingering caress.
Yet beneath his amber softness, beneath his calm façade,
Beats a lion’s blood, a fire that endures.
For Habib is not a man of half-hearted ties,
He gives himself fully, without compromise.

He is the keeper of springs within the stone,
The arm that comforts, the voice that frees.
Beneath the trembling skin, beneath the burning gaze,
One senses a desire both pure and ablaze.

Tomorrow, let us raise a glass to this name of love,
To the loyalty that defies all returns.
For all Habibs, the cherished, the lovers,
May the feast be deep, trembling with fervor.

For the greatest strength, at the end of our defeats,
Is daring to be loved, simply, without pretense.

There are names that carry salt and sea spray,
A scent of journey beyond the ordinary way.
Larissa steps forward, daughter of proud shores,
Leaving behind the shadow of borders.

She has the free grace of a seabird in flight,
Defying the storms and the fiercest winds’ might.
She is a living flame upon a Greek shore,
A secret kept close, a love needing no war.
Beneath skin of light, beneath eyes of blue,
Beats an untamed heart, both tender and true.

For Larissa is one who knows no restraint,
Choosing the open sea over comfort’s constraint.
She is the cry of joy above jagged reefs,
The silken wake of fleeting desires and beliefs.

Tomorrow, let us raise a glass to this horizon name,
To the strength of dreams, to the end of all chains.
For all Larissas, the free and the bold,
May the feast be vast and their spirits unfold.

There are moments when time suspends the hour,
When the angel enters the heart of the dwelling.
Mary awakens in the midst of silence,
Troubled by the weight of an immense presence.

It is a “Yes” whispered like a gentle breath,
A door left ajar to the divine stranger.
The Spirit descends, like a burning caress,
Upon this offered skin, upon this consenting soul.
For the Annunciation is not merely a word of faith,
It is the shiver of a body that accepts its law.

Beneath the linen veil beats a blood of promise,
Life takes root with infinite tenderness.
A blend of light and hidden desire,
Where heaven and earth meet in secret.

Tomorrow, let us raise our eyes to the dawn of spring,
Where the Word becomes flesh, here and now.
For all messengers, for hearts in waiting,
May the feast be alive and the night trembling.

There are names that bear both crown and steel,
A gleam of nacre in winter’s chill.
Catherine steps forth with sovereign grace,
A tranquil lifeblood flows in her veins.

She holds the purity of Carrara stone,
Yet in her gaze, a fiercer flame is shown.
A silken hand with a granite core,
A star that watches when daylight is no more.
Beneath courtly gowns or modest attire,
One senses a hidden, smoldering fire.

For Catherine is not one to be possessed,
She yields only when she has been impressed.
A forbidden fruit, a promise alive,
A thirst for justice that will always strive.

So tomorrow, raise a glass to this glorious name,
That leaves behind a golden flame.
To all Catherines—rebels and friends alike,
May their spirits burn fierce and untamed.