• As the great ball of fire furthers away and the leaves grow weary,
    They fall from their mother’s hands, bleeding reds and fiery yellows
    Their lives tend to cease like children who have failed to become, their family, teary
    With the people dreary, they begin to hibernate with their eyes open
    Sitting in huts and cabins and houses, they begin to see from their cold, dark den
    The blanket of orange paper and naked trees like rooted skeletons
    Skies enveloped with ravens and geese and the grounds with desperate four legged beasts,
    Their instincts tell them to further on and forage for life in trees and bushes
    Summer’s twin will come out to play soon


    Children wrestle in the streets while sage old men refill their cracked pipes, waiting
    They wait for the sign, the days die and cool off, their faces wrinkle and the children rest
    Eyes from above calm the tense men and women, again, hoping for better times
    Food becomes bitter and beds become hard as the leaves fall on the roofs and the water stops flowing


    The gods cry out in divine voices to the people below, “the time for play is over with”
    The fire god begins to rest in his icy chair, preparing for the ogre of seasons
    The humans below, grueling, envious, collect what is left of another lifetime and return to work
    They wait to see only but the morning sun, the fire god must be lazy too, he rises late and sets early
    The rest of the gods only criticize his human like appearance and habits, but he doesn’t reply
    He sits and waits, like the mortals, and wakes when they do but whilst they collect logs,
    They collect food, they pray, they plant, they burrow, they study, they wait,
    He sits, he cries, he sleeps, he dies, dirt covers his face and his tears nourish the soil
    The people praise, then fret, not for their crops, but for their family, is it worth the toil
    For when the farmer and the king and the innkeeper all walk home from their valleys,
    They know in a matter of time, the cycle will only repeat itself until their frail bones turn to dust