The tide fills the bay at Ravenglass
from the Irish Sea to the rivers three,
where once did come the Norsemen bold
to claim wood and beasts and the lives of men
whose kilts and words of Romans told;
the hidden saw years of grass in cattle
gone for the intemperate feasts.

In the hills where I came lately to walk;
one hears still the waters of fells to valleys talk.
A Thunder Bird flashes over,
like Dragon Ship awesome,
as warriors died in clover.

Where rock walls lay to make a field
hands like these fashion the shield.
The plunder of atoms smashing beguiles
not the minds of men with hands like these.

Where joins the man with severed hand,
to family loved and faith steadfast?
The Saga will tell of men
who came to the bay at Ravenglass.

© Carlton Godbold 1987