In the heartlands of the northern plain,
Among the frozen spires of rock and stone,
Lies the tower.
A window or door it does not suffer,
For such folly of man is
Unaccepted.
Denied by all of the mother's keeps.
For eternity,
It holds.
Besting the worse of strains,
A silent sentinel,
Through day,
Through night.
Sheets of purity
Clad its walls,
A gift to its glory,
Forged by the prodigious skies.
Thunderous,
Mighty above all else,
But not a volley it hails,
Not a fire it spews,
Thus,
Forever graced,
With ravishing serenity.
And at its peak,
No flag rests,
No banner,
Claiming dominance.
Only the stone.
Of a frozen citadel,
Cascading into heaven.
