Lost on Hoth

White winds howl, a frozen tide,

Through icy plains so vast and wide.

A snowspeeder, scarred and torn,

Drifts where only ghosts are born.

Engines sputter, power drained,

Frost creeps in, the hull is strained.

A lone pilot, trapped, unseen,

Swallowed by the world of gleam.

Comms are silent, hope is thin,

Echo Base grows dim within.

No tracks to mark the path he came,

Just endless cold and fate’s cruel game.

Through shattered glass, he scans the night,

Blizzards dance in pale moonlight.

No AT-ATs, no rebel calls,

Only silence—only walls.

He grips the yoke, breathes in deep,

Dreams of warmth he’ll never keep.

The war goes on, but he will stay,

A frozen whisper, lost in grey.