In times of old,
Of ancient sands,
Winter used its bitter cold,
To enslave the warmer lands.

Giant clouds of silver white,
Which at lost horizons gnaw,
Speak of their own force and might,
And of winter's gaping maw.

As they dominate the sky,
Shadowing the sun of gold,
Wind and breezes seem to sigh,
As events start to unfold.

From a heavy, burdened cloud,
Tiny flakes of crystal snow,
Sheath the earth in a white shroud,
Falling to the ground below.

And the winter came to stay,
With its blizzards and its cold,
Driving warm breezes away,
Blocking the sun's rays of gold.

As the earth begins to yield,
To the winter's bitter show,
A new land slowly emerges:
The Gyanis fields of snow.

Succumb also the black pines,
To the harsh and frozen breeze,
Helpless to defend their lines,
Winter conquers them with ease.

Now, with all resistance gone,
Frozen hell is pouring forth,
Winter rules these lands hereon,
Such is born the frozen north.

Penned by my hand on the 25th of Letum, in the year 497 AD.