The Dance of Seasons
If winter were a man he’d be dark and gloomy
in suit of cloud and storm
his lightning gaze would tear right through thee.
If summer were a maid she’d be young and sunny
clad in cotton white
She’d think all that is dark is funny.
He’d seem to her a loner
a castaway by choice
And for all his firm demeanor,
she’d never heard his voice.
To him she’d be a painting
made of colors bright
his need for beauty sating
merely on sight.
They traveled through the land,
ice on steps of fire.
She’d warm the stone and sand
he’d freeze the sea entire.
Life would rise to meet her
the flowers before all.
They sprung out by her footsteps
and under his would fall.
Her nature was to awaken,
of two the brightest piece,
no soul was ever taken
the weaves of fate she’d crease.
A path by far that’s darker
is his alone to tread
life’s informal banker,
this other half of dread.
Whence he walked, ice would follow
preserving life in crystal case.
And though she’d think his chest as hollow
their hearts; they’d never beat apace.
Both being young and old,
depending whom one’s asking.
None with the other all too bold,
in their element, each, basking.
She’d be too quick in judging.
Him, too slow in the approach,
every chance like daggers dodging,
giving reason to reproach.
And thus in total blindness
too many years passed.
The land in winter’s harness
and welcome sunlight blast.
But still it wasn’t perfect
for one in two was wrong,
when longing’s thus neglected
silence rings louder than the song.
Thus devious nature made her plans,
the wind was at her pleasure.
To tame a beauty him that stuns
and pride that’d cause a fissure.
So upon a years’ morn
the wind was set in motion.
In Summer’s land he was forlorn,
in guise of cold, he triggered caution.
The waves would crush upon the sand
the fruit be cooled to falling.
Seeing his cold infuse her land
she’d answer her pride’s calling.
In anger she’d return
to lands where now dwelt winter.
And even though she burned,
she could not turn a leaf to cinder.
In arrogance she thought,
ice was weak to fire,
but what she hath forgot;
water kills the pyre.
As a torch that’s dipped in water
she, of anger, stood bereft.
And thus a heart of sun, but hotter,
was cooled by winter’s fingers, deft.
It was nei’er the cold nor wind,
simply the perfection.
And thus her pride was dearly singed
by North’s unlikely affection.
But for all the elegance of snow,
he’d still feel Summer’s fury.
Her wrath, inferno raw,
would crease his brow with worry.
He worried not for his one sake,
for winter knows no strife.
But how does one her patience break
the tender of all life?
Her gentle eyes for all that’s growing
now regarded him in rage.
And though his innocence like crystal’s glowing,
in anger none of us’s a sage.
Summer:"How dare you intrude upon my kingdom
you frozen castaway of fate?”
Who gave you leave for such bold freedom
your lust for life this way to sate?”
Winter:"I know not, how I’ve wronged you,
fair lass of Summer; Queen.
But I feel, I must remind you,
this is not your lush land green.
You shall mind your manners here
queen or not, this is my rule,
We’ve been vastly tricked I fear,
your dislike given more fuel.
I assure you, I have not at all invaded,
by the ice, I have no cause.
Someone clearly this intended;
to my peace, to give a pause.”
Frowning Summer’s wrath defeated,
yet her pride defiant stood.
Summer:"If your winds had but retreated,
before freezing stream and wood.”
Winter’s frown at last was freed.
Winter:"Do you control the Sun? His rising?
Why’d the wind have paid me heed?
Why d’you keep in truth despising?”
Smoldering Summer calmed her temper.
She knew he was not to blame.
His fault lied closer to her center,
why had he never called her name?
Winter:"But if I may and please allow me
my deepest pleasure to express.
And while all’s jagged ice outside me
my heart’s warmth it won’t repress.
One might call it contradiction
North in search of South’s embrace,
but I’ve been longing for perfection
merely loneliness to face.
I may not survive your fire,
you might not withstand the ice,
but is this not a fate less dire
than that of separate demise?
I will perish, I assure you
sadness will be this land’s bane.
Mere survival clings without you
the thought of you yet keeps me sane.
Can you see these snowy mountains
do you see the ice that forms?
Do they not remind of fountains
under sparkling summer storms?
Please remain for once beside me,
this is not a wasteland cold
and there is a Heart inside me
whose beating, at your sight grows bold.
I shall reform each spear-peaked giant
into dancing maiden’s shape.
And if the wind be once compliant
your love for Sun we’ll gently sate.
Winter is not full of darkness,
snow’s caress is not ere cold,
we don’t bow to fear or madness
frost cannot our feelings hold!
For I feel, deep and truly
beauty, life I cherish both.
And if my face projects it crudely,
then my heart shall keep this oath.”
Blushing maid and clad in sunshine,
gazing closely at his face,
pride conceding to resign,
affection wins in her heart’s chase.
She bends and picks a frozen flower
it blossoms slowly in mold of ice.
She smiles to him kindly
and spins it in her fingers thrice.
Summer:"You surprise me, Father of the North
I could ne’er have seen this unless I had come forth.
Now I understand you for the very first of times,
come and sit beside me; trees, to me, are shrines.”
Thus they sat together underneath a tree.
He was gently singing, gazing at the sea.
She was listening in silence, to mountain horn and blast.
He reached out and touched, her gentle hand at last.
Winter:"So long that I have waited
your gentle touch to feel.
This wish of mine’s been sated
minds’ response to heart’s appeal.”
Gently icy circles tracing
on the back of Summer’s hand.
Her need for sunlight sating,
turning ice to fine-grained sand.
Winter:"As the Sun now dawns upon us
sheets of light in dancer’s grace.
the secrets hid in ice below us,
return to heart, their proper place.
And mine, deepest of all secrets
treads now slowly to the fore.
Fear’s only a cowards mistress,
to Gods of courage I implore.
I have so profoundly loved you,
since you first set foot on grass.
I’ve revered the wind that’s borne you,
always far from me; alas.
I could not have yet approached you,
cold is hard to love at best,
but still intently I have watched you;
Winter tightly in hope stood dressed.
At long last you stepped before me,
anger burned in eyes bright green.
I had not thought, you so restore me,
life soaked deep in beauty’s sheen.
Now your hand in mine is resting;
inferno raw embraced in ice.
Thus the world is deftly jesting,
off the table it threw the dice.”
Summer:"This, a peculiar, summers’ fate
craving winter’s rule in heart.
To have found in you my destined mate
has formed for ice a softer part.
While loved and cherished where I tread
in some ways I’ve been hollow,
my whole existence I’ve been led
in day to dance and night to wallow.
But now joy is everlasting
fire and ice now stand as one
our bodies, a single spirit housing.
Colder than wind, brighter than sun.”
And thus together, warm Summer and cold Winter
ruled the land in each one’s turn.
A perfect era, no rogue splinter,
arose from winds blow and light’s burn.
Years passed with love evolving
shifting, growing, shining true.
The substance of two souls dissolving,
adding more to seasons; two.
Spring was born, much like her mother
beauty, vigor, life and sun.
But also special like no other,
with chilly wind from North that’s come.
Autumn grew in father’s favor
cold and gray and wetter still,
but in romance summers’ fervor,
with a will that’s made of steel.
Four now seasons walked the earth
bringing joy and sorrow.
Two would give to new life birth,
the other two would take it on the morrow.
Thus our precious world was born
through hate and bloomed affection.
The wind alas is still forlorn
and clouded in deception.
But still besides the other four,
he alone remembers
and so he now lays down this prose;
spawn of ice and embers.
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