Lest you loosen your grip on the strings of the season
Once again you answer with a question -
Leaving the inevitable in resting, rather than reason

Undesirable as is underwhelming to one
Yet to another,
Nothing short of writhing and wreathing

There's no way of stopping what is to be
As if you were a child in their time of teething

Subsequent is the simmer
The boil down of your glimmer
For the final time, no matter
I crown you the winner