Seasons

Beneath the oak I lie and dream my last. Whilst snow does gather I wrap the remnants of a lover's tryst and hold the bundle to my breast as life slips from her delicate grasp. Rags decry a noble birth, sullied by a moment's pleasure. Snowflakes reflect the purity of the untarnished life that comes to such meagre ends. As angels gather to welcome two more souls, I look to the heavens with remorse for my only sin.

Here, where I have lain and dreampt, and oft those reveries have become reality, I consider my fate. To dream of love is oft the starting of a maiden's downfall; now it is my final act. As nightmares carry me to breathe my last, I think of him still. A handsome face, a kindly word, the unspoken deed, that delivers me to my maker before my time on earth is truly spent. Impoverished both in means and emotion I choose to leave this mortal coil; my only wish is that I could lay my burden in another's arms.

With the spring I dreampt of love, with a heart filled with sweet imaginings. Take my hand, take my heart, take my every part, for it is offered freely, as is love's way. I knew not what I was considering then. In virtue I proffered my maidenhead, in belief of an undying love. With pleasing words he wooed me, pursued me, charmed me. disarmed me, until I was lost to all reason.

In summer's heat our nakedness betrayed the virtue of an innocent charm. Bodies writhing in meadow sweet, whilst wings were soaring to untold heights of fantasy. Limbs entwined in shameful pursuit of ecstasy gave no thought to dire consequence. Filled with the joy of loving I gave my all. As the rivulet bubbled within the valley, so was I lost to all sensibility.

With the Autumn came my fall; as leave do burnish, so do souls. Lost to the world is modesty, as with swollen belly my plight is set. Chill winds do blow harsh words and even harsher deeds my way. As the trees lost their foliage, I lost my dignity. Thrown from the hearth that had always been my security, I gathered what little I had and made for the oak; a tryst arranged, yet now devoid of love, a meeting unkept.

In Winter's chill his heart is cold. A burden strains the chains that once did bind. He is lost to me. My life is over. Beneath the oak, where oft we met, I dream now of the angels. As the tiny corpse slips from my frozen grasp, I cough, I gasp, I leave this world.

Word count 447