In mid-autumn, when the sun grows warm again, And the air smells of apples and dry leaves like rain, People whisper to each other: "Look, can't you see? Persephone has returned, for a while, briefly." They say Hades allows his queen to rise above, For one week only — not as prisoner, nor as guest to love, But as a sovereign to whom both worlds stand wide, Not a break, but a breath before winter's tide. Nature manages one final smile, and the gift of that grace — Hades himself bestows it, for he knows her place: She will return to him, and in knowing, his strength is cast, In the certainty that what was before, shall always last. Hades stands Among those few who keep their word, who hold their lands Of promise firm. His power lies in constancy, Not shifting moods, but rock-solid certainty. A pact was made, sealed not by oaths but by the seed — Pomegranate grains. Six on her palm to feed, Six months in darkness. Who has tasted pomegranate's stain Is bound to the world of shadows, the domain Of the dead. Yet this was not a snare, but a vow: Persephone gave Hades not just presence, but her name, her trust, and how She offered them freely. And he answered with a throne, A seat beside his own — not below, not alone. While Persephone, the earth blooms — spring and summer come. When she returns to her lord, the world goes numb — Autumn and winter claim the land in quiet rest. Their meetings and their partings shaped the rhythm best: Longing and relief, waiting and return. Not tragedy, but balance — this they learned. In mid-autumn, when the sun grows warm again, And the air smells of apples and dry leaves like rain Nature manages one final smile, and the gift of that grace — Hades bestows it upon us, knowing full well the worth of order
