NORDIC ZAGA " The Hearth Song "

The Hearth Song by Paul Kennelly June 2008


Merry the nights that we spend at the hearth, the logs burning so bright
a cauldron of broth, bubbles and steams, all in the flickering light

at my side sits my brother, older in years, his hair greying with age
and I’ll never forget how his face became scarred, a warrior fighting in rage

now, here’s to my sisters, young maidens still, who weave the linen so fine
with eyes like the sky on a clear bright dawn and hair so gold and divine

and there is father, Erik the bold, our warrior, chieftain and King
his wild days behind him, he sits at our head and it’s in fathers honour, we sing

dressed in fine purple, oh so serine, is the woman who keeps us as one
for she is our mother, beloved by us all, by husband, daughter and son

so as we make merry and drink of the mead, we sup on the crackling hog
the telling of sagas, the singing of song with everyone sat on the log

what joy that we have as together we dwell, our longhouse our home, our kin
along with the ancestors, wishing us well, it fills us with warmth from within