Horizons and herring made us Vikings

No estuary beyond our sixteen oars and shallow-drafts.

Silver arm-rings we wore, bound by allegiance,

Chained thralls shared our graves

 

Ninety miles a day in a fair wind

Sea-sick abaft oak prows and reeling sails.

Monks in towers prayed for stormy seas but

Stiff with salt it was nuns not gold we wanted

 

After conquest we traded and wed, proud to convert,

Bequeathing towns; Dublin, Waterford, Cork.

More than pirates we were despite what the Annalists say.

My genes berth in your veins like longships