Song Of The Muses.

A Sonnet

As here a forlorn season has gone by.
It's decor awash in frozen savagery.
Snow capped mountains but a sight.
Remembered by critters amidst their plight.
Now lads and lasses sing and dance.
The birds they titter while in mid flight.
The lake once solid and frozen over.
Now strewn with diamonds where glaciers steam.
A mere illusion revealed though some may say .
This is a realm where comets are born .
And the stars stir in pure mirth.