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Maybe better not to remember?
Maybe better not to have been told?
Yet all is alive –
Only wolves are now wandering blind.

The end of an ancient world.
Tales of deeds carolled in blood
Land of the forgotten sons –
Kings and nations forgone.

Land of giants – one of them is fire
His brothers – the wind we breathe
The body of water – so generous and deep
We are all heirs of the ground we keep.

The three crowns returned to the west
To reminisce where the third had rest
Hill forts abandoned by the guests
Too steep the slopes for the two bears
to make their nests.

Land of giants – one of them is fire
His brothers – the wind we breathe
The body of water – so generous and deep
We are all heirs of the ground we keep.

Of wood, stone and bone his castles are made
His folk gathered in the backwoods' maze
Fortified with twigs, ice and horns
Stone cold souls awaiting the battle that will not be lost.

Maybe better not to remember?
Maybe better not to have been told?
Yet all is alive –
Only wolves are blind.

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