In Greek mythology, they tell of Persephone and her annual descent into the underworld. When that occurs, her mother, Demeter, grieves. Her sorrow at the loss of her child brings forth the cold, barren winter, which does not end until her daughter returns, heralding the start of spring. This, however, is not a poem about winter or spring. This is a sonnet about the birth of autumn from the perspective of Persephone herself.
“Do not look back,” I’d heard my mother say,
Voice full of grief, her face was far too grim.
It was so hard to trade the light of day
For endless nights with undead lives and him.
Her sadness was the hardest thing to bear.
Six months below was nothing next to that.
Over the years, I thought, “What could we share
Besides the sorrow my descent begat?”
One summer’s end, I found myself inspired
As, into gray, the trees began to fade.
With gifts from her, at birth, I had acquired,
I made the colors of the leaves cascade.
“Winter’s ne’er endless. Here, my gift to you,
Hues to remind of next year’s spring renew.”