Rode he by me in his waggon of gold
His hair whipped by the prevailing wind
A greater sight has never been foretold
That great might ‘neath his alabaster skin

We followed him then o’er the great sea
And steadily did our fortunes then grow
Oft did we sacrifice to our Lord Ingui
And then field after field we did sow

As children were born unto this land
Our cups did we raise in his name
He held our tribe close in his hands
And lords of all England we became

Lost to the flow of Wyrd are his many deeds
That to our great shame are forgotten
Yet mighty things may grow from a tiny seed
To be sown in our fair children begotten

Those of us who recall shall exalt him still
And give thanks for seasons of fair weather
His waggon tracks still lead o’er England’s hills
And his name shall be honoured forever

*

I dedicate this poem to Lord Ingui, may his name continue to be honoured.

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