Treasure Trove

She always deeply feared the coming Winter,
Buried her gatherings beneath the arbour.
But Autumn, come the leaves... her markings seemed to fade
And by the wintertime, buried in her grave.

Death visited her once, when she was little,
But to her carousing, played second fiddle,
And swept in wonderings noting with his quill
That ever Winter-tide, she would catch a chill.

Oh, for a Winter store of gold,
Oh for a yuletide treasure trove,
Oh, for someone, who can capture the Sun, and keep it Gold.
Keep her Gold.

In Spring, her tender shoots
Began a-growing,
All through the Summer time,
Warm winds a blowing,
In Autumn, quietly, laid down in the leaves
Trying to hibernate; trying to breathe.

Oh, for a Winter store of gold,
Oh for a yuletide treasure trove,
Oh, for someone, who can capture the Sun, and keep her Gold.
Keep her Gold. Keep her Gold.

And now I've buried her.
She didn't feel it.
Warm 'neath her comforter,
Though there's no healing,
And I will rest a-while, by her standing stone,
And think upon her Youth, and her time alone;
And yield my time to her,
My treasure trove;
I give my life to her,
Now she's turned to Gold.