Summer has bloomed.
Carried on the horse of a Viking god.
Drying fields, food for cattle,
and men. Working feverishly
to bring the harvest in. All now is
golden as the Summer Sun runs
valiant across the skies. The barley
corn will fill the whiskey vats full.
Full for the drinking the long dark winter
through the black of days and black of nights
in the feasting halls of men and gods the golden Sun will stay.