Persephone

Like the silk back of a serpent, she stands still like a portrait,

Her grace ever bounding, overbearing on the savage wastelands of the corrupt

She comes up only as goddess of Spring when the flowers rise from their hibernation, and when

suddenly the sun comes up.

She; as sweet as the fruit that plunged her to hell in deceit,

That took her away from her mother, stands still.

As graceful as a blooming flower in the tides of hell where the fallen lay

Helpless, but ever waiting for Spring after the cold.

After the sun has arisen.