King of the Dead, what say you to winter?
It’s Death’s season, is it not?
As things cover with snow, ice and rot
Do you revel and rejoice with grand
Cries of joy as your kingdom expands
As frozen frost flows fast over the world,
Spreading icy tendrils of your influence milord?
Or is it the more private, happy joy of family
Which turns you deliriously giddy?
Now as the cold season approaches
Do you dream of the triumphant success
Of your territory growing to bloated excess
Or does your flower bride’s homecoming
Make you more loving, more caring
For this frozen season than any other?
Home from your pouting sister and her loving mother
Bringing home, with her, fragrant beauty,
A whirlwind of colour and sweet voice-flutey.
For six long months you’ve been apart.
After those lethargic months are these magic?
You’ll get to deal with the increasing sick
As the cold rattles aching bones and they die
Travelling to meet you with coins covering eyes.
But is it their arrival that you anticipate
Or is it your beautiful bride home descent?
Tell me milord, what say you to winter?