In what seemed high above the clouds to the mortals below,

their daily grind and purpose-led lives and their enriched

and awkward filled lies, in once where Mad King March

in a fit of male ego led temper threw his army to the wind, scattered

and shown no mercy, punished and raged as the wind tossed

with ever greater stakes as control

was sought for peace of mind,

now stands, in serenity and cast iron beauty

the queen of all, for  none is fairer or bountiful

than Thrimilchi, to her allies Wonnemaand and to her lovers