She, named Winter, is cold indeed,

Her sister, Summer, full of glee,

Spring’s wakening wrought rivalry,

But Fall’s child is not of the three.

 

Fall comes as harbinger,

To Winter’s frozen door.

- Be gone little foragers!

For the snows come with a roar.

 

Trees adorned in green-woven shawls,

Twisted heavy heads to hear all,

- The message is dire - came the call,

For who could stop the end of Fall?

 

Great crowns bowed in defeat,

O’er the endless acres,

- Summer’s warmth was ever sweet,

But time to meet the Makers.

 

Nay - said Fall - no need for despair,

She, Winter, is no heartless snare,

Never heated but always fair,

She’ll be quick and easy to bear.

 

Then comes dear brother, Spring,

Much loved by everyone,

He glides in alike a king,

And leaves Winter’s work undone.

 

At last, to Demeter’s delight,

Her child retreats from Hades’ might,

After six weary months of night,

As penance for her dining slight.

 

Warmth comes to Summer’s womb,

Rousing the birds and bees,

Taking with it Winter’s gloom,

And thawing the age-old freeze.

 

- What of you? - Fall was lastly asked,

- I am nothing but of low caste,

Quickly dismissed and quickly masked,

By my brethren’s colorful past.

 

I am old age, per say,

Fall sadly shook his head,

- Not white, nor black, but the grey,

Barely better than the dead.

 

His differing sisters were mute,

His adoring brother a brute,

But nowhere did Fall find dispute,

Of the claim that was so acute.

 

Nothing was left to speak,

Thus hurt, Fall turned away,

When out of the blue came meek,

Fall’s child with something to say.

 

- Come again? Belovéd father,

Did you forget me, the starter,

The green, the thirsty, the hoarder?

Or can your child cease to clamor?

 

Within you I was born,

Beside you I’m at rest,

Perhaps not many would mourn,

But I count myself twice blessed,

 

The year is long the seasons short,

But few know more than Autumn’s court,

Of the siblings’ echoing mort,

And their timeless pact to support.

 

She, named Winter, is cold indeed,

Her sister, Summer, full of glee.

Spring’s wakening wrought rivalry,

But Fall’s child is not of the three.