Evening mists
That creep and crawl
Must give way
To the Summer sun
Grasses drenched
In sodden dew
Will glisten in
The caustic hues of afternoon
Such is the will of Pan.
Flaming skirts
Of autumn leaves
Orange, and red, and gold
Dance upon
The zephyr of twilight
Falling silently
To sleep
Upon His domain
Such is the will of Pan.
Winter's breath
Upon my neck.
Icebound lips of blue,
They do kiss the snow
Before blowing away
Lost to the evening's
Befrosted paths
Lighting the way to the unknown
Such is the will of Pan.
The soft
Grass born of the
Frigid night
Returns to the light
The grandeur of Day
While trees bow
Gracefully in their homage
To the birth of all life.
Such is the will of Pan.
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