Rhiannon,
Goddess
Of
Autumn
And
Other
Things,
Drives
A
Chariot
Across
The
Sky,
And
Brings
Winter
On
Frosty
Wings.
I stand
Below
In
A
Fall
Of
Leaves,
And
Wait
For
Snow.
Nowhere
To
Run,
I know
It’s
Too
Far
A
Journey
To
Reach
The
Elusive,
Vagrant
Sun,
And
Must
Go
On,
Until
The
Cold
Year
Grows
Old,
And
Spring
Triumphs,
Green
And
Gold.