Green glens lie quiet in the bitter chill of winter’s
night
Summer golden valleys echo the eerie sound of silence
Hillsides rustle as natures beasts wander proud and free
In the air sing the voices of winged hunters in full
flight
Northern soil turns as hardy souls eke out their existence
And in the hills and glens wild peoples stake their claim
In rocky coastal waters silver fish provide a meagre
morsel
A fledgling nation’s psyche is forged in their
persistence
With every birth they spread familial reach into the wilds
Bonding with their neighbours in protection and in life
Small tribes become great clans united in their struggles
Borders stretch across the land encompass windswept isles
Warring Chieftains come together forging destiny in blood
Painted people chase invading legions back to walls of
stone
Horned raiders coming to the shores vanquished to the
deep
Southern hordes left rotting in the bloodied fields of
mud
Ancient cultures come together, stride forth as a nation
grows
A warrior race emerges from the rugged hills and barren
moor
Wanton eyes glint with menace and the need to dominate
Once again the warriors clash, their dead feed the brazen
crows
Proud people stand as one whilst their brothers sell
their souls
Birth-rights sold for the southern coin, rich promises
and tithes
But still they fight for freedom and their continual
existence
Free from foreign domination and twisted silver tongue
controls
Fallen kings and warriors lie buried in the blood-soaked
past
Those battlegrounds now the silent graves of a nation’s
sons
Crushed rebellions and slaughter fuels the warriors
descendants
Fighting blood fills the pounding veins of a people built
to last
And as the land lies quiet in the bitter chill of a winter’s
night
Valleys echo once again to the clarion call of freedom
Hillsides come alive with shrill mutterings of nationhood
And on the air voices sing once more of a country and its
might
© F Martin
2012
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