Persephone's Lament Poem by Jake Schaff

Summer yearns no greater than now for Persephone, calling from it's muffled frozen prisons, it says,
'First Born, rest gently in Hell's infernal summer blaze', while your flowers are glazed with winters first frost.  Incestuously snatched up, like the warm days from her high perch. Impatiently awaiting her return. Alas, wait my child, my wild nights, visions of impetuous  delights. I will seek for you no further to where the sun descends,   or until my impassioned plans come to sudden end.