Beneath the earth, the shadows spread,
Where light once warmed the fields, now dead.
Demeter roams with tearful eyes,
Her daughter lost to darkened skies.
The wheat is still, the harvest cold,
No golden grain, no tale to hold.
Her arms, once full of life’s embrace,
Now reach for Persephone’s stolen face.
Each flower wilts, each tree stands bare,
The bitter winds weave through the air.
Her sorrow’s deep, her cry a storm,
A mother’s love, without its form.
She waits in winter’s long, cold reign,
For spring to bring her child again.
But in her heart, the ache remains,
A world untouched by joy’s refrain.
For when the earth beneath is torn,
A mother’s grief is everborn..
©️ 2024
The Royal Octopus 