The seasons, as a woman.
Every leaf on the tree unfurls
Straightening from its dusty curls
She awakens, returning to her palace
Free from the cold's gripping malice
With the wisdom of an elder
But the grace of a swan.
A fire grows within the embers,
As the tune swells anon
The days grow long and sweet
Dancing, spiraling through the heat
She plays her fiddle on the shore,
Quicker, faster, more and more
Her honeyed hair whips through the air
And enemies dance freely.
But then a chilling wind gives its share,
And the waters become steely
The sun gives way to harvest time
As shears and scythes click and chime
She treads among her fallen treasures
Her melancholy growing in measures
Jewels lace her amber locks
And twirl to the ground at her feet.
Her heartbeat slows to reluctant knocks
As the earth is covered with its sheet
She casts her final spell
Crystal diamonds, not to sell
A crown on head and staff in hand
She steals her love from the land
On the final night
Just out of sight
She climbs into her tomb as planned.