Mysterious lady walks through the morning glade,
a veil of icy dew, to her feet adheres
a veil of icy dew, to her feet adheres
Birds alight on her hands, she is their chorus maid,
her presence, it wakes the buck and deer
Nymphs and Elves shy away, in awe of her beauty,
her magic, an untold secret of the dell
The forest is her home, where all other creatures retire,
even Diana falls under her spell
Flakes of frost settle on her golden hair, dancing, fleeting,
as the sunshine warms the cold air
Waxwing’s tinkling little bell, berries dropped as a gift,
she smiles, her face so pure and fair
The forest stirs – all of nature acknowledging her,
birds serenade with antiphonal calls,
Too soon, the Solstice looms, the winter beseeching her,
For she is the Queen of the Fall
