Evergreen Promises

In the early morning sun,

When summer’s beauty is undone,

Frosted dew clings to blades of grass

Turning each footfall into a crunch on glass.

Trees are shorn; their wool wilting away.

The heavens become a canvas of gray;

For Samhain is passed.

Old Jack Frost moves from his throne so fast,

Leading the wild hunt at the head of a gust.

From which a single flake of snow falls robust

As a herald of the quiet still

That is Morozko’s blanket, so very chill.

Autumn is becoming a distant memory

And spring is becoming a dream of reverie.

A scarecrow sits in a forgotten field,

Wearing a white suit of armor as its shield.

The crows herald the coming season

With the setting of the obscured sun.

Nightfall descends upon forest and meadows,

While the ancient owl’s chilled call echoes

Throughout the stillness of Morozko’s blanket

Resting even on the thicket;

Disturbed only by the tracks

Of mouse and cat; hare and fox.

Winter has come to remain;

Jack Frost shall rule his domain

With an iron fist driven by might

Fueled by winter’s stinging bite.

Families shall remain at hearth and shire,

Hopeful that Mithras returns with his fire;

To cast away tricky old Jack,

And once more bring the bright sun back.

Communities shall come as natural

To feast together and carol;

To hang those wreaths and green men.

Remembering once again

That evergreen solace

Of days once snowless.

With flowering fields and chittering birds

Come to life once more by these words

To remind that in a time as shown

One is truly not alone.