People of the Horse

Riding, riding, riding through the night
on the back of the winds,
back of the Children of Wind,
the steppes vanishing, leagues eaten up
with each heartbeat hoofbeat hame-fleet
in the dark, starlit night
Under the watchful eye of Night’s son
and her daughters you ride
forward, forward, friend- and foe-ward
the people of the steppes.

She leads you on in life and in dreams
toward the fresh green land
of fruits and grass, mare in the lead,
leading, greed-ing for that new world.
Lord of the Forests awaits for you
and the Maere leads on,
Silver-white in the washèd light
jumping, bumping, over the lumping steppe
Mother of the winds, Queen of the Herd
Goddess of the steppe

Through the woods and the dark forests
at the end of the world you ride
Until you fall off, break through
into the Land of Promise, Land of Her
green land, golden strand, warrior bands
She has led you Home, to the edge
of the Endless Water and the Far, Misty Land
across the waves, land of the Sun.
weary, bleary, leery of the tossing Sea,
People of the Steppes

The Maere has led, you have followed,
Epona is Her Name.
And Macha of the Red Hair,
Niamh of the Islands Fair,
Rhiannon in her bower bare
of a son.
The Ride is over, the promise won,
but the Maere lives ever in your dreams
in a wild night’s ride across the gorse,
For you are the People of the Horse.

(c) Nicanthiel Hræfnhild 2008

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