Year's End

My Lady sleeps now,
pale upon a bower
of brown world,
dreaming new spring
on a bed of old year
wrapped in frost
and hints of coming snow.

Her breath is stilled,
slow-measured
in the growing cold
and darkening skies
all left behind
by Autumn's flight
across the world,

Her dark eyes shine
no more from under eave
of wood or sunlit glade,
her limbs are stilled,
no dance of life left
behind on meadows caught
in Winter's spell,
no smiles of sunlight
slanting down through foliage,
no footfalls in the green
of summer gone
to bring delight and joy,

Yet She is deathless,
always living,
only gathered now in
Winter's cold embrace,
Her heat damped down
in quiet temple
of coming snow,
waiting for awakening,

For soon He will arrive,
when light and dark
are equal,
casting for Her scent
with snorted breath
of urgent need,
stamping through the crunch
of snow and leaves
on cloven feet,
The shadows of His antlers
cast dark against
the brilliance of His coming,
and when He finds Her
They will join,
in pleasure and in passion,
in knowing and delight,
and renew the waking world
with love and sacred lust,

So listen in the moments
caught between our heartbeats,
Listen for His footfalls
in the darkness,
listen for His distant roar,
Listen for His coming,
and rejoice.