Fantasy is my game, AB is my name! 
Spell out my riddle, and see yourself giggle.
A time flies by, but a season dies high,
The sun is nigh, and love is like a sigh,
My name is like a rye, rather dry. 
High, high, high I go, above Olympus shone! 
There, on the hill, sits my wooden throne,
of broom and hearth, I see no mark...

Now do tell what you spell, for AB is all I'll plainly have let fell...