Fresh Summer green leaves
Blush embarrassed russet
At the cool kiss of Autumn

The cool of morning ignites beech and oak
To ruddy hue,
Sycamore to speckled yellow
Ash flutter light, feather like
To autumn’s golden rich carpet

In shady grove, in deepest wood
The Goddess reaps her harvest
Nuts and berries from bush and bough

The Holly King grows in strength
As the Oak King wanes,
Soon to re-live the age old battle

An antlered head lifts in the forest glade
His breath hangs on the chill air
Alert seven tines speaks to his world
“I am ready”