I saw her in Spring.
Her eyes were bright,
And so her smile.
I saw her in Summer.
Dancing in the heather,
Her hands aloft.
I saw her in Autumn.
Picking through the blackberries;
Picking through her life.
I saw her in Winter.
The frost crisped underfoot
As she passed by.

[Penelope Friday has been a practicing pagan for a number of years and has been running an online coven for two years. When not witchifying, she writes erotic fiction and articles on disability (amongst many other things), details of which can be found at her website.]