In the window of a woman’s couterier
appears Persephone with abundant tenderness,
her hair fragrant with ripened rye.
Her voice imbued with favouring grace
as if ascending to another sky,
she bestows flowers with her smiles.
Persephone works a double shift:
in spring she breathes soul into the earth
for the budding of rich fruits.
With a crimson thread she descends into Hell,
with a white she returns to Heaven.
Like an ancient goddess she foretells change.