The Danes and Saxons
had tongues split with swords
dipped in the blood of Britainiae.
Their silver lips kissed the daughters of Europe,
sang Caedmon’s Hymn,
cast words from Germanic ovens into
Our words are isomorphous;
The gecynd is shrouded in shadows of Stonehenge;
a cauldron of strange sound bubbles up from Northumbria.
What will our rhetoric be in another thousand years?
Hwa gelust giedds ansund gelice in elra gears?
Will their tongues be molten earth,
their words forged from our darkness?