Nordic blood, as herds of reindeer
huddle, snort, snuff, stamp and shake
as snow falls deeper, below a thin light
of winterís horizon, breath billows
trees bend with white weight, the sea
in movement, defies freezing
but frozen rigging condemns to Port.
Dearer vast silent nights buried in ice
the beginning of a race, generations
still locked in thought than warm climes
end of destiny, the ancestorís journey there.
Jan G. Otterstrom F. 7/25/2013