The fire blazes, crackles and snaps,
the women dance around its light,
while the men around, in the dark-
ling shadows, beat the drums to the
song of life.
Flutes sigh their trilling songs,
and strings dance and thrum and
blur, as the fiddle plays its wild
abandon, out, into the currents of
the night.
The wild boar is caught and spit,
its dripping fat, the flames do lick,
and now the call to feast and song,
to mead and meat and legend tall,
under the stars and the hunters
moon!
A happy simple thing. Judge it how you will.
