Cruel emissaries of the north wind hold the gentle south lands to ransom
with their disruptive spells of preternatural confusion
and the magic of the eternal protector has no power in this quadrant of the wheel
Instead the mighty dark pretender has his say and all the puppets dance to his mania
as their strings become straining boughs threatened by the derision of the wind
and the seeds caught in that maelstrom fall into the meadow
to become hidden by a choking blanket of wolfen white
Some things which appear beautiful prove to be the most toxic poisons of all.
All the tiny creatures swear allegiance to the warm of the sun, and prey for ward
The weak and the old perish as sacrifices to keep the evil one happy
And the blanket is knitted thicker and thicker and stems the flow of humour
as the winter chill plays devilish mischief in another section of the maze
The Dark One laughs and merely plays another tune
Rivers turn to crystal and the protector's talesmen hide away in caves
Hibernating in darkness until the summer wraiths weave their tapestries
and The Shining One empowers once more these gentle shores.
Reminding us all of beauty, and magic, and enchantment
and the seeds grow into abundant flowers filling the meadows with charms
Fragrances of life which inspire the happy to float to the heavens
and think about how life can be without the threat of winter
Sometimes the north winds breaks into song and raises a shiver across a soul
For the time of mischief is never truly that far away, so the voice says
And sadly the wheel turns once more to that freezing quadrant
Cruel emissaries once more stalk the land and the threat returns.
