This fecund mistress of the Summer Lord
Lies in her bower of oak, but finds no rest.
With heaving belly, ripe as fleshy gourd,
She toils alone to bring her true harvest.
Thick hair of golden corn goes dull with sweat,
Her leaf green gown turns red with blood’s bright stain.
But eyes of acorn brown show no regret.
Full berry lips smile bright despite the pain.
The earth itself will fuel her struggle now
As summer’s heat is drawn to her, and lost.
All through the night mist’s tendrils soothe her brow
’Til dawn lights cobwebbed crib, adorned with frost.
Where, enthroned, Winter gives his first, small, cry
Echoed to all by wild geese as they fly
Well I don’t normally do poetry, let alone sonnets, but I’ve been fiddling with this for months and finally the weather has prompted me to post it.
The initial inspiration came from this depiction of The Lady from my Druidcraft Tarot:
The pack itself was created by Philip Carr-Gomm and his wife Stephanie and the cards were illustrated by Will Worthington. Please note no copyright infringement is intended in reproducing this image.
Kizzia Mildmay 
This is beautiful! It evokes great imagery of the changing season while it harkens to work from the 17th Century. I am a fan of Arthurian Legend, by the way. I see that you adore Merlin Fiction 🙂
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