Praise the Gods

Spring is in the air and days go by,

An oak has been born, reaching for the sky.

Soon Summer is here at the height of his power,

its a wonder to behold, full bloom of a flower.

The leaves of brilliant colors, of gold and deep red,

Will arrive in Autumn, followed by Winter’s dread.

So it is with all, we are born and take a breath,

But at the end of our season, all bow to Winter’s death.

-Raysdottir 2012