Somber and baleful, when will the night come to an end?
Where the blazing star once hung now lies a void brimming with longing.
From heavens inked black, icy knives plummet,
Pelting the exposed land below, shattering the still air.
Through an offense, unbeknownst to them, the ire of a celestial body arose,
Igniting this relentless glacial onslaught.
Drenched and noiseless, bearing the oppressive weight of their scorn alone,
Terra awaits a blissful pardon – a pardon that may never come.
Raging and unabating, like a charging cavalry, the attack is overwhelming.
Flora, once dancing vibrantly with the umber,
Now lies in tatters, forlorn beneath the unlit sky.
With an invasive chill, the numbing pain seeps deep within.
Yet, just as time weaves its tapestry of seasons,
It will compel the celestial body to renounce its wrath;
Furl its sable cloak and cease its bitter assault,
And embrace a world ringing with the robins’ sweet melodies.
For now, the punishing night persists.
Even so, beyond this dark veil rises the enchanting perfume of hyacinths.
May their bloom rival a blushing bride's cheeks.
May a dawn come to display them quivering elegantly in the returned star’s beam.