As the moon rose
And on the stone grows
A bunch of poppy
Wild and free
A solitary grave
Of a man brave
A man feared by men
A man loved by wolves
Is stirred and emerges
A hand, a leg, a face of bone
Clutching his axe , his bow and spear
Howls defiantly for all to hear
And joins he with his fellow comrades
To hunt ,drink and dine
To feed those who fed them
And to consume the others
And the wolves prowl
As a procession grows
An icy mist flows
To the village below
And the doors were shut
The gates were barred
Yet they entered
And soon began
The procession a pandemonium
Of howls and moans
Yet to the spirits
It was gilded tones
And till dawn they stayed
As the dogs did bay
Beckoning them to return
Back to Frey.
