Game of Thrones

In Westeros, the Bard has writ
The Summer and the Winter last
Beyond the year; and seasons flit
Ponderously, being so vast
They swallow lifetimes, and the tale
Of Winter is believed a lie
In Summer, and will not avail
Although the cold be truly nigh.
The Summer too is ever thought
A myth in Winter, cheap as breath
A child's fantasy but nought
To anyone who knows of death.
So find we here, with Winter come
And Summer's sirens stricken dumb.