The Frost Lords cast their wind,
into the lingering breath of Autumn.
She had sung her song. Encore! Encore!

Those Winter Warlocks grew envious.
Why should she sing so.
It was January after all.

The decree was uttered,
Lady Autumn surrendered.
She hibernates, healing her voice.

Pockets of frigid air arrive,
the crowds begin to cower.
The Frost Lords are most pleased.

It is the time for stillness.
It is the time for death.
Yet, the songs will come again.