so tell me then illustrious men
who've wandered far beyond the ken
Of we who strive with words and pen
to tell the world of cock and hen
who roosted in the way back when
in lofts of thatch and wicker den
resting in the soggy fen
Or tending hind in mountain glen
Beside the hearths so plastered then
with ashes mixed in salted mud
to hold the heat of hand split wood
beyond the time of burning
well past the times of yearning
like cockled eggs and oaten whey
to hold us through another day
Until the long ships make their way
Into this mountain sheltered bay
to give us news of how they fared
so we may write and spread the word
far into times ahead of all our men so dead
who sailed the seas and conquered dread
while we who shiver in the night
and stubbornly record our plight
weaving rhyme and beating time
with words to be remembered
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