Giants cut the world in half,
Cold, wet sheets of crystal,
Immune to poison and to gaff,
Eluding men so distal.
Their mournful moans, heart-wrenching,
Play softly in the azure,
Upon their thrones, most quenching,
Singing psalms of adjure.
Their place beneath the crest is holy,
A place devoid of men, so lowly.