The Cycle
By seasons' rule, they rise to fight,
A mighty duel for natures right,
Beneath the sun, ones power grows,
Each take the crown as the season goes.
The Oak King blooms in spring's fresh face,
His teeming strength, the world his space,
With summer's height, his reign is vast,
But time reminds: No rule can last.
The Holly stirs as autumn nears,
His shadow sown in whispered fears,
With winter's chill, his might ascends,
The Oak King falls, the breeze rends.
Yet neither keep the throne for long,
Their scepters entwined, flowing like song,
The regent goes round, as all things must,
Their endless strife, a sacred trust.
In evergreen and tender sprout,
Their power shifts, their roles swap out,