So. This is a poem about Krisafitsa-Tharina from Tharaman's POV. Was going to be called 'To You, With Love', but it doesnt fit.
Disclaimer; If I was Stuart Hill, then my knowledge of Vikings would be more than that of hats with horns.
The rain is heavy upon my fur
Like the strike of a sword they fall;
Cutting the manacles whom choke my call
Of deepest fear for her.
The clouds submit to none who ask,
Grey and unsettled they glare upon
A world, a time that hath no song
To warm an old friend's flask.
But through the mist there is one light
Shining from sea-deep blue;
A light which, loyal and true
Disguises more than one could sight.
A pelt of snow, soft and smooth,
Hosts flecks of brown roses, which
Doth change in size, in beauty, in pitch
To help one see more than they prove.
Blinding is the warmth within:
Kindled by a blaze immortal,
To all enemy's heart it should chill
Like the death of anothers kin.
Sabers shall rip the evil fog
Whence claws tear flesh from bone
And when single bugles tone
Blood shall in nails, clog.
Rivers washed in crimson tears,
Drying in their beleaguered fears
And padding over sheets of ice
Will be she, my only vice.
A/N: Sorry if the use of language is a bit off... it sounded good when I was writing it, but looking back over it - it seems weird.
Maybe its just me.