In a castle high on a windswept hill,
Lived old Gord, with time to kill.
With armor rusted, sword gone dull,
Yet heart and head both strong and full.
His halls were grand but filled with dust,
The chandeliers adorned with rust.
The tapestries told of days long past,
When Gord rode forth, his shadow cast.
No longer a knight in shining steel,
He found his joy in hearth and meal.
With tankard raised, he’d tell a tale,
Of dragons fought and ships that sailed.
Yet in the night, when torches dim,
And echoes of the past call him,
He stands upon the castle wall,
And dreams of battle, feasts, and brawls.
Though time has slowed his mighty stride,
And taken much, it leaves him pride.
For Gord still reigns in his domain,
A king of stories, wind, and rain.
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