The Queen of Summer
snarled and slung her
heat asunder
and we all were burned.
She,
the cleansing beast,
scorched away
each green leaf
and dried the dew,
so that Autumn could
speak her worth.
That delicate poetry,
red, orange, and yellow –
these words that leave her
mouth, will slowly turn
as brown as Summer’s
dry and scorched earth.
All this must come
before the wicked one,
the Queen of Winter,
chooses the good silver
for her annual feast.
She,
the truest killing thing,
hunts like a shark
with a mouthful of
icy stalactite teeth.
Gentle Spring,
young and sweet,
waits nearby
to watch the green
sprouts grow beneath
her delicate feet.
She is rebirth,
and this, her turn,
represents the wheel’s
wobbly spin, complete.
She’d never understood
her Sisters’ angst,
but Summer’s heat
had always impressed her.
But, wait she must,
because her Sisters
had only just begun
to yell and rage,
and to stamp their feet,
until the turn
of the next year.
©️ CG Tenpenny, 2019.
