The season was a father
To a lost child
But was the season a child
To a lost father?
Oh he found a home
In a hollow tree
Though he prefers
The stir
Of virgin leaves
Never kissed
By a casket of snow
Don’t you know
Don’t you know
Don’t you know
I command all leaves shed
To let new branches grow
Don’t you know
Don’t you know
Don’t you know
Through barren wood
All souls do flow
A mother gave him ego
What a double edged sword
He stabs
She mends with witch hazel
It’s all on the floor
The chicory is best
Since it’ll fix such a mess
Though she’s not too quick to heal
Everything he smites
She wants to feel
Spin the wheel
Spin the wheel
Spin the wheel
Spin the wheel
Spin the wheel
Spin the wheel
A mother’s kinder shrine
A simple sword formed of steel
Burnt August was the father
To his own lost child
But was August just a child
To a lost father?
Oh he bore his sword
To pierce the tree
He took the wood
Ablaze it be
The rings of age
And aura free
He scorns himself
On flames so hot
He’s cleared his shelf
Of all he’s got
All he has is leaves
Taken from the poor pure trees
He’s seeking to place them
Upon my knees
He’ll be with me awhile
To make sure I’m free
From winter’s grasp
And silent rasp
A daunting task
So where was he
In summer heat?
Burnt August left a leaf
With a letter underneath
He said
“I may be gone a short time.
Won’t you please promise me?
Hold onto your trees
Your wood
Your seeds
And grow, for me, a sanctuary.”
Will he return
For wood to burn?
Will he bear a sword
To cut the boards?
Will his temple fall
Leaving but a simple wailing wall…?
Samantha Sklar 