The Fall

It was begun with glorious Sun
departing from Her lands,
And purchase won by Hateful One,
with death upon his hands.
She might have wept, but wisely kept
the Warm wet of her tears,
To be spent upon the rent
when come the kinder years.

His hiss and slither shook and shivered
Her heart with icy dread.
Thence and thither, wilted, withered
the leaves that crowned Her head,
Which facing blight did fast alight
to wreath of fiery red.
A helm of war She brightly bore,
but sadly soon would shed;
An angry mutter sent the clutter
clattering cold and dead.

And with a howl, a wintry cowl
he cast upon the wood,
But from Her breast he could not wrest
that Warmth that made her good
(though he detest, and best contest,
against him still it stood).
Then with a screaming icy stream
he blew a frozen cast,
And in his fury deeply buried
beneath the blizzard's blast.

Too old for cold to crumble,
She stood in silence fast,
Spent, he stumbled mumbling numbly,
"Next year, you will not last."

Without report, she gave retort,
by facing, smiling, East,
Whence came Her Sun, His freedom won,
His debt to South released.
Before His power, Cold flinched and cowered,
like lowliest of beasts.

With gasp and scurry he scampered, hurried,
'fore his Forever Foe,
whose lofty might would surely smite,
and lay old Winter low.

"I'm not done yet," he spat his threat,
frost frothing from his mouth.
"For while you're here with mummy dear,
I can keep the South."