Winds Of Winter Poem by Anirudh Singh

O' wind of the misty mountains blow,
with songs of bronze and tales of gold,
over green fields and forests old,
whisper in my ear, the story so.

Tell me of, how my homeland fares,
Where the Northern spire, forvever stares.
Tell me of the graying castle stone.
Of fair Nine Towers, of bells that toll.

I ache to hear her voice so fair,
My lady, waits alone 'ere
Let her have hope, dispel despair.
My wary soul, shall jouney home.

Sword and steel clash on the 'morn
The final hour approaches on,
Our fight is done, the battle lost,
and still we pay our honor's cost.

Let my blood drench this land of blight,
and hold this host now and here,
for let not our flames be lost in vain,
let our deaths guard my land so fair.

Dawn has come, now time is short.
Oh wind of the misty mountain lo,
hear my call and bear my words.
A soldier lives his life once more,
A soldier gives his life once more.

The wind of the misty mountains blows,
and bears the souls of brave men so,
A chill in the breeze, a slighter freeze
The hands of death, no warmth they bear.

He lies alone, broken forlorn,
Staring up at the skies so gray,
cracked sword at side,
and a shield to bear,
his weight to Elysian fields of gold.