Hour 11, Land of the Ice and Snow

My ancestors hailed from harshness and sought new lands far and wide
with their wooden ships in which to spread their seed, for farms and for genetics.

The land I long for is that of my origins,
known only by legend.
In that place, whales spout in ice choked bays and fjords,
ice achieves a depth whose inner color rivals that of the piercing blue sky,
northern lights dance an impossible dream of pulsing colors
within a perpetual twilight,
hot springs of mineral laden water bathe bodies that ache with cold,
and a fire blazes within a great timbered lodge whose walls resound
with the fire songs, the sea songs of old.

I will see this place when my days have played themselves out to their end,
a valiant life the earned passage to my seat among ancestral Norse ranks.

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