Sunday, 18 January 2015


Through the homelands, blows a whisper, from the Northern wind, as it speaks to the tribes, of all Euro-kin. A wind from the breath, of the gods on high, cross the Bifrost Bridge, where the ravens fly.
And it speaks from the past, to the present day. It speaks without words, in a haunting way. Urgent in message, and spanning all time, passed down from the ages, through legends and rhyme.
You'll know when you hear it, t'will hit you like a stone, distant voices will speak, in an ancestral tone. And you'll grasp the importance, of your life's fleeting star, and how your heritage, had been carried this far.
It's a quickening, and you'll feel it, full of passion and power, it connects you, with your forebears, in your most needed hour. And you'll learn, in that moment, without words, without sound, every inch of your homelands, are on hallowed ground!

Ron Mcvan


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