Will the seasons continue to turn?
Will your battle still commence?
In these days of plague when
we need you so much
will you depart
to the land of the dead
to sleep in your cold castle
The seasons must turn.
My battle must commence
and my death-blow must be struck.
Yet when I die you will see my ghost
and when I sleep I will sleepwalk.
Many will see the wolf of my soul.
Through these days of plague
I will guide the dead.
This poem is addressed to my patron god, Gwyn ap Nudd, on Calan Mai. Today Gwyn (Winter’s King) battles against Gwythyr (Summer’s King) for Creiddylad, a goddess of spring and flowers, and is destined to lose and return to sleep in the Castle of Cold Stone, in Annwn.