It’s hard to consider Persephone now,
When we’re all sporting sunscreen, and straw hats, and shades.
When farmers are happily manning the plough,
Do you think they remember that maiden in braids?
When managers teach summer temps when and how,
Is Persephone one of those pert office aides?
But oh, how she’s longed for when never a bough
Bears a leaf, when great white drifts have buried green blades,
And numb grow the fingers, lips, even the brow;
When young lovers cease singing their sweet serenades
‘Neath windows to shivering sweethearts who vow
They will not leave their beds for love, money, or grades ...
Persephone, stay, and bid Hades farewell!
It’s too much to take that you’re gone half the year.
We hear your life’s grim with that husband from hell,
And when you’re away, it’s unbearable here.