In summer, the land is his.
It belongs to that mighty lion,
With his warm bold visage
And lively crimson lips.
You shall find no paleness
In those full rosy cheeks,
Nor shall you find cold looks
In those radiant amber eyes.

A long dazzling mane
Of golden-orange fur
Cascades down his back
Like a roaring fire.
His royal head is crowned
With a halo of gold
That shines in the summer sun
While fire red sandals
Of dyed leather
Adorn the lion's strong paws.

Across the countryside he roams,
Filling the land with warmth
Like a bath of brilliant light.
Thus the lion rules
Until the ice of winter
Should come to the land
And slowly freeze
His majestic kingdom of sunlight.

In winter, the land is hers,
It belongs to the Ice Queen,
With her pale frigid countenance
And deathly blue lips.
You shall find no color
In those hollow cheeks,
Nor shall you find warmth
In those icy blue eyes.

Long shimmering strands
Of silver-white hair
Cascades down her back
Like a frozen waterfall.
Her royal head is crowned
With a wreath of snowflakes
That glisten in the winter sun
While ice blue slippers
Of frosted glass
Adorn the queen's delicate feet.

In a frozen sleigh she rides,
Blanketing the land in snow,
Like a layer of wet cotton.
Thus the Queen rules
Until the fires of spring
Should come to the land
And slowly melt away
Her great palace of ice.