From norþ and souþ and eest and oest – a song of fear is sung,
A song from þose who are no more – who hold back wryþing tongues.
How sing þey wiþ þeir rattling teeþ – wiþ snapping maws, wiþ opened eyes,
How sing þey yet not one may hear – not one may hear þeir cryes.

Þough howl þey wiþ hygh-heaving čests – wiþ anguiš held wiþin,
Contorting faces, froþing growls – red-furie pulling grins.
A harrowed syght to þose who breaþe – to þose who know þey too will sing
Yet wiþ closed eyes one can escape – what tyme to one will bring.

To fear or not one’s čoice to make – þough none confront þe truþ,
Þe truþ þat þey, just lyke þeir peers – may not return to youþ.
Þat lyfe will not forever last – forever be one’s čerišed gift,
Forever not may one remain – to welkin must one drift.

So wailed in sylence strewn about – manie an Elf now gone
Neaþ red-hot gore where lay þe dead – upon Yule’s gorgeous dawn.
Dismembered heads, wyde-opened wombs – loved ones held togeþer near
Embracing still as did bifore – þe dawning of þe year.

Where lived þe Elfings of þe Eest – neaþ far-vast friend-green walds,
Þere came a foul harfest of heads – þe Wyld Hunt Miþra called.
Determined Orcings of þe Oest – hoping oaþs þeirs to uphold
Heaved from þe young þeir squealing heads - so too tore from þe old.

Here Černoška sprawled cross þe flor – black-bloated was her čest.
Here Hloupaček in pieces torn – head sat not wiþ his rest.
Here Starouška, a ladie kynd – her face disfigured from abuse.
Here Milejček, his šyning smyle – no longer girls seduced.

One sat among her kin-folk dear – Enda was her name.
In pools of gore in gloom sat še – to live at all her šame.
Her loved ones sang þat song of fear – whyle Enda sang a song of grief
For whyle lived še wryþed þey in pain – her anguiš lacked relief.

(WIP)