A chill has settled upon the land
Despite it being May,
A downy blanket, soft as sand,
The ice still does remain.
"Where is spring?" The question asked
The faceless sky silent
The mystery is now a task
The three respond, violent.
The Arbiter, all blood and snow,
The Witch, red turned to black,
The Trickster, black to blue it goes,
Arise, winter to wrack.
The snow itself would bar their way
Content with the long night
No easy sleep seeks she, the fey
And frigid spirit fights.
The village slumbers peacefully,
But claws hide there behind
A familiar presence, eerily
A battle they there find.
Another figure, from long times past,
Tugs at the heartstrings,
Though once before she was the last,
The puppeteer now sings.
The open skies greeting sounds
Above the clouds and cold
The trio's ghostly song resounds
A piece played loud and bold.
The endless path that claims the dead
The vast stairs they ascend
Prepare they with silent dread
This mystery to mend.
A moment's sound, twin keening edges
A slash of day and night
The gardener cuts more than hedges
A life and death, each fight.
The final steps accounted for,
The great heart of it all,
A smiling princess stands before
A tree, and the spring's fall.
But once need flap the butterfly
Its wings, to strike disaster
What dread portent does then lie
In the swarms in the hereafter?
Another day, another festival,
For swiftly grown flowers
The dead as well join in the revel
That lasts till early hours.
Yet one last point nags at the mind
One last set of rounds -
How were the dead so easy to find?
What happened to the bounds?
Return they to the bounded field
By daylight they are stopped,
The mistress sleeps, in dreams congealed
The fox her spellcards popped.
One last time they come again
Reality unmaking
Phantasmal purple colors bend
Protector, painstaking.
iamp
also I hate rhyming it makes everything sound pretentious and stuuuupiiiiiid
