Atop a mountain throne, I sat,
amidst a war torn land,
and to all the limits of my domain,
through mountain tracks I trudged,
mountain lords, holding court,
amidst their halls of shale,
and yonder, from the mountain pale,
runs a narrow shaft,
from there, across an icy stream,
and brown jagged rocks,
and on, thereon, across the ridge,
runs the boundary line,
between my nation, and theirs,
they atop their mountain fort,
and I, in my halls of stone,
and each meets the other, every night,
across the mountains firth,
in parleys, of spoken words,
and blinking beams of light,
and mirth rules this frozen waste,
upon a silent night,
where we men, warriors brave,
with nature, and enemy, fight.