This is another one that just kind of flowed together while it was snowing. I always enjoy the mental image of some lone wanderer marching across stretches of winter frozen lands. You'd probably have to have a good reason to do that though, right? Something like.... revenge?

Hoarfrost clings to the curves of the land,

Crunching beneath as I march sword in hand.

Frozen in time by the winter's cruel breath,

The plains glitter bright with cold's silver death.


On the horizon I'm fixed; long miles I roam,

As I venture -pathless- far from my home.

My only companion? The glare of the sun,

As I dream of the hearth from a past now undone.


No friend do I have to warm my cold thoughts,

Just the terrible dreams of a battle once fought.

Of the clash of cold iron on a hill much like this,

And the weeping of men swallowed by doom's dark abyss.


Of a foe whom the gods senselessly saved,

When all he deserved was a taste of the grave.

I march now beyond the reach of my ken,

Hoping to find and fight them again.


If the bitter winds take me before I arrive,

I'll know that my enemy was meant to survive.

But if I should live to darken their door,

I'll see their blood freeze on the cold of the floor.