The Azure one's loom

As the orange tint turns azureus,

As Winter's door hinge opens with none the curious.

An aura encompasses

the lads and lasses

A cerulean youthful bling --- nature's promise ring.

Priests preach pre-emptively pronouncing the presents to come

For winter is just having her drying turn

The fruit of all the corpses shed by her rufescent sister

Will produce a sebum showering all in a glister!

Is it a holy river? This looming sister?

I shiver when i am the listener ----

Is it not but a way to cope with the comrades fallen?

A way to keep the forgotten forgotten.

In return for a year of suffering all that is promised (hoped for) is but a few months of bliss,

but the real bliss she provides

Is in the ignorance of the pain felt in the present.

Keep your head down and let time pass,

for she in her blue glory, will heal the peasant --- and his ass---

And when the beauty in blue arrives,

all will have a bountiful thrive!

What is this azure loom

that makes us ignorant to our doom?