By JH Sayyar
Upon the steppes where ancient echoes roam,
A real titan stands with steel beneath his gaze;
His voice commands from frost-Kremlin’s dome,
Through storm and strife, he shapes a new phase.
In the icy courts where power’s thread is spun,
He weaves the will of Russia with iron thread;
Though tempests rage and rivals seek the sun,
He does walk where czars and revolution led.
The West may frown, yet cannot turn its eye,
For strength and strategy he does display;
A sphinx of statecraft, watchful, cold, and sly,
His silence oft says more than foes can say.
O Russia’s King, both feared and fierce admired
By fire and frost, thy golden legacy inspired.
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