Deep in the mountains great and old,
The North wind dances lightly bold.
In dens deep with hues of greenish gold.
Over streams burning with winter cold.
The North wind calls to ages untold.
Note: I feel as though this is unfinished, but no matter how often I try to add to it, nothing feels right. This first verse came in a rush, an explosion of feeling, then it stopped. I feel it is sufficient as it is to pass on what I felt. This is a feeling of my Norse ancestry.
