Page 7 - GRANADA

I saw your friend the Wind take up arms against it then, shaking the branches free. Then you sent us once more the glorious dream of a Summer of strength and an Autumn of grace before we yielded to the inevitable Winter.
But winter is not done yet. Winter is here.
It is crushing your children to death again, swathing the world in white and strangling out every other colour from it. Winter is come for your blossoms, O Spring, and they must die before their time. Not for them the promised Summer of love and life and laughter, not for them the slow mellowing of Autumn, and the poignant beauty of bidding farewell to life. They shall be smothered in their cradles in the arms of their mother trees.
I like watching your children die, O Spring.
O Spring, will you still dare to come to us again, to trust your children to us? Know that we will do nothing for them. We will wind the wool tighter around our heads and let the white swathes smother them, over and over and over again.
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