The first is a castle.
Within, live a noble few, and me, guarded by my soildery.
Of nobility there's at most three, usually two, sometimes one, and all too often none.
They’re more family than blood, chosen rather than given.
My champions in every endeavour, and buttresses in every disaster.
The second is the town.
In some seasons a bustling throng of spires and roads, in others, a small market street.
Regardless, my walls and moats will always surround it.
I know their trades and their desires. But scarcely been inside their homes.
These people change often, new seasons new faces, but my time always ends up spent here the most.
They defend my walls and welcome me with embraces. We meet for ale and cake.
I defend their honour and keep them safe.
I can rest here… Though I no longer bear my whole heart here, just to be safe.
The third are in the plains.
Foreigners, faceless, strangers, aliens, exiles.
From my walls I watch them wander in the wastes.
Most are unknowns, passing without heed.
With some I recognise the faces, with others the names, though with none I care enough to open the gates.
Some glare back, some red and trembling, others side-eyed or grimacing.
All of them cancers removed from my lands, lest my now verdant kingdom again become sand.