winter is coming
tell me a tale with no words
and sing that melody bereft of tunes
who holds the blistering winds in winters inglorious strife
and seeks the harvest of fishes from a steaming geyser
in the whispering shanties of the glassy icy ones
heralds in laboured vapours and clattering teeth
winter is coming
in blanched visions and snow blindness
the gutless bulk up in layers of falsehood skins
and the mead is ripe and the nights are furlongs long
follow the crimson trail to find the primal hue of Nature
the letting and the offering calms the savage beasts
in alpine minds they all opine
winter is coming