Sons of NorthA Poem by Marina N. Lovrić
Every warrior shall meet his day ,
he tries to stand but knees give way , even the greatest will fall today Behind this blood wall eight hundred dead men lie , hearing an echo from Valhalla ; "Vikings never die." Rivers running red , they leave this world in fire , into wind as ashes ; the dead ; eight hundred dead desires To avenge our fallen companions we march to bring them slaughter , each and every one of them will drown in bloody water Sleep well , my brother ; close your eyes for it is the final time you'll see the northern skies To my homeland and the north ; to the forests and the snow farewell ; and a farewell to my sword ; you have served me well © 2018 Marina N. LovrićReviews
|
StatsAuthor
|