I come from
A land
Of sea and stone

Of high cliffs
Wide moors & deep
Valleys green

Books are written
On its gnarled wisdom
But few

Leave a didjin
For Bucca
Any more

Oh truth be
Told I’m
Far from home

But the sun
Still sinks
In the sea

And Western lands
Are in me –
I’ll not take my crib

Beneath the earth –
No need,
For it be mine by right of birth

And I’ll carry it close
As the Knockers strike
The prop

Down amongst
The depths
We strike

With black hands –
Best you leave
The crust.”

Knock on wood
She’ll not fall
Upon our heads

As we pass beyond
Calvary’s reach
Via Golgotha

To find rivers
Of silver and gold
Copper and tin

I’ve been a patient
Crippled smith
Since before the Age of Bronze

As Hephaistos loved Aphrodite
So Wayand loved the swan-maid –
That valkyrie departed

I’ll drink from skull goblets gladly
Eyes gleaming like jewels
In the dark

Make swords and staves
Weapons from ancestral ashes –
Take wing

Suffering and pain
“That went by, so shall this.”