Dan Cross Poet Iambic Pentameter

Katabasis -A Decent- of the Seasons

Beneath the blazing chariot of the Sun,
The fields lay golden, harvest nearly done.
Apollo’s lyre still hums in heated air,
While dryads dance with loosened, flowing hair.
Yet whispers stir where russet leaves descend,
And Zephyrus his gentle breath will bend.
The Horae turn the key to autumn’s gate,
And winter waits with silent hands of fate.
The nymphs retreat as chill invades the glade,
While Persephone walks the twilight shade.
Her mother weeps; the furrows lose their green,
Demeter mourns what once was summer’s sheen.
The grapes grow dark, and Bacchus drains his bowl,
As frost begins to claim the mortal soul.
Now Artemis with silver shafts will roam,
Through amber woods where stags have made their home.
Her hounds pursue beneath the copper sky,
While fading swallows trace their southward fly.
Fair Chione strews her crystal veil on earth,
While hearths grow dim and silence mocks their mirth.
Then Boreas with icy fingers sweeps,
And silent Pan among the snowdrifts sleeps.
Selene rides her argent path serene,
O’er fields that sleep beneath a glassy sheen.
Then Nyx extends her ebon wings on high,
And veils the frozen world from starry sky.
Through shadowed paths where mortal footsteps cease,
Swift Hermes guides the shades to realms of peace.
And Orpheus, whose lyre once charmed the dead,
Now strikes a mournful chord for warmth that fled.

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