Our mortal kin, beyond the veil,
Who speak of us in fairy-tale
When all their world is full of life,
Think little of our woes and strife.
When under skies of moon-dipped cloud,
Mists unfurl and fay-folk prowl.
When gloaming fires sweep the land
And lovers leap through hand in hand:
Upon the fading light he rides, my bitter twin,
He whose leaves withstand the winter’s wind.
Wise and proud, adorned in armour black:
Rutting antlers upon his head, the cloak of night across his back,
A crown of prickles at his brow, red berries in his hair,
My brother dear, who shuns the light, makes cold the air.
Rot and death and blight, his game,
Spring and summer speak not his name.
For he comes to chase the good and dear,
Replace my rule with ice and fear,
To take the season’s throne
And banish all that is mine own.
He commands the autumn hoards and winter slaves
Who war upon these peaceful shores of long slow days.
And some join his fight, some help him none,
Others toy with mortal lives for fun
And in their wake, the land doth scour
And all that ripens must grow sour.
But my loyal champions, they stand and fight,
Defend my realms with all their might.
And well we know our thankless task
But still, we battle to the last.
And despite the outcome of the day
We honour each and every fallen fay.
For just as circles have neither origin nor end,
So doth the year curve, come round and start again.
And she is a many, varied changing thing
This Mother Earth and all she birthed to love and sing.
And when his power ebbs once more, I the Oaken King,
Of forests lush and fields of green,
Will waken when the moment’s right,
When long days dream of shrinking nights.
I will rise and bow before the Earthen Queen,
Don my armour,
Retake the throne
And reign supreme!
R.J. Ren 