Within my lonesome underworld,
today it is still summer..
But then again, upon the end
of dark and moonless night,
there always comes tomorrow…
And with it comes The Sun,
our heavenly star.

She used to shine so bright for me..
Upon each morning she would rise so tall..
But after many morrows, many moons..
her light is dimming fast.
Nearly upon us is The Fall,
The Fall at last.

The season of weaving the tapestry..
The season of spinning the thread..
The season of farewells and greetings..
The season of Death.

It is the season of rebirth.
Once merely sown,
once merely sprouting forth..
Now, it is nearly blooming,
nearly grown..
Now it is nearly plump
and begging for the picking.
Now it is nearly ripe
and ready for the reaping.

Yay ‘tis the season of The Harvest
and of harvesting the truth.
Yay ‘tis the season
of once merely pomegranate seed..
of now nearly pomegranate fruit.

Yay ‘tis the season of The Fellow Reaper
and of her trusty, sharpened scythe.
She swings it recklessly and with abandon,
left and right.
She swings it with a pious vigor
and a mighty zest.
She puts my own scythe right to work,
and in this work..
I find a weariness most welcomed..
I find my most rejuvenating rest.

‘Tis the season.. the season to be truly seen..
Upon this season, Hades lies in wait..
Who is he waiting for?
None other than his Queen.
‘Tis the season.. also the season to truly see.
Who does he lie in wait for?
Who else could it be?
None other than his dearest..
His only Queen,
Persephone.