Give ear to my tale for it carries but only a season. Wherein winters harsh grasp doth freeze the soul of man and in her laughter, the roar of hails.
Alas dear spring, her curse to renew the cycle of winters death but not before my sun doth warm the hearts of man.
Perhaps it is this warmth (hope) that carries him through fall, autumns snare and rapture, for September is where she is born. Yet my tale grows old for alas summer, like all things, must surely come to an end.Alas dear spring, her curse to renew the cycle of winters death but not before my sun doth warm the hearts of man.
Give ear to my tale for it carries but only a season. Give ear to my song for it carries summer's tune.
