Son hands # 29502
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Sonhandur. Poem by Kristján Hreinsson.
The Whisperer's Son
In the world's arena, many strange things are written.
and it's funny what's being done there,
there has sprung glory from countless stars,
where the stream of life often touches hearts.
There, the hall has been captured by wailing and weeping
and frustration has taken many different steps
but after long sorrows there has come laughter
there it sounded like a theme imbued with magic
And there various tongues can speak,
where loyalty and anger find their outlet
and wisdom quenches the thirst of some there
where sorrow and joy can face each other
There, in souls, the light is on at night.
by a whisperer sitting behind the scenes.
The Whisperer's Son
In the world's arena, many strange things are written.
and it's funny what's being done there,
there has sprung glory from countless stars,
where the stream of life often touches hearts.
There, the hall has been captured by wailing and weeping
and frustration has taken many different steps
but after long sorrows there has come laughter
there it sounded like a theme imbued with magic
And there various tongues can speak,
where loyalty and anger find their outlet
and wisdom quenches the thirst of some there
where sorrow and joy can face each other
There, in souls, the light is on at night.
by a whisperer sitting behind the scenes.