Wind blown ice beats at our doors Cutting through the trees in winter's frozen battle Seeking to strike us till we fall Yet stand we shall & fear not its death rattle.
`Round the fire we shall seek our rest And sing of kin gone & fallen Wounds of battles now cleansed and dressed Dreams of battle quietly come calling
As mead warms winter's cold breathe We listen to the crystal song of the wind For in truth it sings of spring's rebirth And soon shall we see our far and distant kin
So sharpen your sword and polish the helm For Soon the ice shall make its silent retreat We shall set to sea and road for foreign lands And on the fields of honor distant foes shall meet.
-Andreu MacAoidh