forbidden pipes
stir rebel blood
on strains of pained
lament
as once proud statures
turn face down
for no solace
here is present
egos seek the shadows
of long forgot defeat
in dampened
anticipation
a mothers sob
singularly haunts
above a pregnant
silence
not a murmur
then befell
as forward stepped
her son
and snatching up
his fathers sword
to the four hills
bellowed then
the heathen kind
shall dearly pay
for bloods spill
upon our lands
over brook and fen
upon fell and moor
we avenge the gods
of Elspenor