Faerie Rings

I. Child Spring

An impish lad. At first, he’s shy.
Leaves little flowers on the lawn
for bees to find and make the honey rise
with the eastern sun.
His sun-blonde hair is wind-tousled.
Its tips drip the rain
and scatter little pools for stomping.
Ancient eyes in a youthful face,
he never makes a promise
he cannot keep.
He seeks your winter seeds,
hidden like Easter eggs
in the grubby dirt,
and calls up May flowers–
His gift for you to pluck and press
against the coming winter.

II. The Oak, King of Summer

The mighty blaze of summer sun
Is shaded by the shaggy crown
When Oak King takes his sacred place
And spheres dance through their sacred space.
His walk is like a dance that sways
Along the golden garden ways.
He wets his feet in streams and creeks.
His face is kindly, apple-cheeked.
He sings the birds and calls the rain,
And berry bushes make his train.
Though gentle is his face and hands,
The Summer King makes his demands.
The time for harvesting has come:
Pluck the apples! Let honey run!
No time for resting – feast is nigh,
So pile the bounty baskets high!
To celebrate means many tasks:
Press the grape, and fill the cask.
Go scythe the wheat for making bread
As sun yet stands high overhead.
While Oak King’s time is still at hand,
Bring in the bounty of the land,
For planted seeds bring swelling rinds
To fill the bellies and the minds
Of simple and of wiser folk
Who bend their necks to Oak King’s yoke
And joins him in his revelry,
Industrious as the honeybees.

III. Child Autumn

Falling hair as fine as cornsilk
and the color of Japanese maples.
Her first embrace is warm,
though she leaves you with a coy smile
cold enough to frost a heart.
Greet her softly.
Let enthusiasm slow
into reacquintanced familiarity.
She will welcome the shy advance,
the easing into cozy evenings.
She knows how much you missed her.
Enjoy her sunset lingerings.
Soon enough, her farewell
will cling to the lips,
crisped as the last oak leaf,
a drifting memory until next year.

IV. The Cypress, Queen of Winter

How fearsome is the Cypress Queen!
Her ling’ring stare would freeze your blood.
How heavy her dark-needled crown,
Her stately tread through winter’s mud.
She covers earth with blankets white,
Presses all things into their rest.
She chases roots with playful frost
And sends small creatures to their nests.
She might be seen after the snow
With icy mail glittering bright.
Her beauty’s great, but harsh her ways
When days are shorter than the nights.
The Cypress Queen demands a cease
Of fruit and harvest and good toil.
With iron wand and iron will,
She forces rest and fallow soil.
She knows that times of lack creates
A drawing up and drawing in.
A stronger world, she seeks to make
By freezing out the mortal sin
Of forcing every able drop
From man and beast and weary land.
Her methods seem like tyranny
To those that do not know her hand,
But wiser ones will call her friend
And thank her for the gift of death.
They know that only dying will
Bring them the strength to resurrect.

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