The greatness, in small, the courage, in all,
Beneath in form, the low, beyond in thought, to grow,
From courts, the beds, to taverns, the different sets,
The eyes, the hair, the posture of a lord,
Defied and endured and like lion roared,
The friends embraced, the foes put to sword,
Envisioned and schemed as his brilliance soared.
The new Gods, the old Gods, the drowned, the inflamed,
All vicious and demanding and none had him tamed,
And his spirit ever grew in a small noble form,
Charming and laughing through the of swords storm.
From Dorne to the wall,
Ladies high and wenches all,
Would despair if was to fall,
The Imp of the lion lands, in wisdom tall.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
enjoyed, love Tyrion