Follower of the Sun,
Her liquid fingers caress,
Cooling, calming.
She dances in diamond clothing,
Swirling lubriciously,
Flirting with the overhanging foliage,
Taunting it with release.
Promising all,
Then passing on,
Giving nothing,
Its thirst for her,
Unquenched.

Libertine lover,
Carrying fallen heroes,
Dressed in their angry uniforms,
Brown, Yellow, Orange, Red,
Swept up in her arousal.
They feel themselves,
Pulled into her heart,
Exhilarated by her affections.
They lose themselves within her,
Only to be tossed aside,
In favour of other,
More icy warriors.
 
Devil made deva,
With Winters wrath she shouts for attention,
Boiling with want,
She growls angrily.
Her torrents of storm bubble over,
Wreaking havoc on those unfortunates,
Standing naively in her path,
She is uncaring of their woes.
Her fury though, is short in life,
And tempest quietens,
Though undercurrents of her rage,
Yet remain.