Winter poem
In the black season of deep winter
A storm of waves is roused
Along the expanse of the world.
Sad are the birds of every meadow-plain
Except the ravens that feed on crimson blood
At the clamour of harsh winter -
Rough, black, dark, smoky;
Dogs are vicious in cracking bones;
The iron pot is put on the fire
After the dark black day.
Irish 11th century, attributed to Amergin
- God, I love the snow! I know, I'm crazy. But it's so frickin' cool. I want to go out and throw hammers at frost giants now. Hyalf!!!