Ode to forefathers.

A poem I composed while riding on the metro bored. (I doubt anybody reads it but at least it wouldn't die with my laptop). I heard that metre is rare in English poetry for some reason and decided to create an example if an English language poem with a clear metre. One verse lead to the next and here is what I ended up with.

Hail to you my nation.

Mighty you are and proud

We stand before you in ovation

Praising you clear and loud

We came from the riders of old

Who, blessed by divine thunder,

Relentlessly outwards rode

Seizing women and plunder.

They would claim the captured women

They would push their legs wide asunder

Empty wombs would be filled with semen

And new life would begin thereunder

Breasts would swell and bellies would grow

Sons and daughters would quicken inside

From dark nipples white milk would flow

For new warriors that would further ride

They took the lands yet unsown

And sowed white barley and wheat.

They hunted beasts yet unknown

And feasted on ale and meat.

As a toast to forefathers fallen

They poured wine on soil and peat

To turn maids into wives with breasts swollen

Sweet red honey they made into mead

In the hillforts in lands newly ploughed

In the steppes where stallions graze.

Epic songs would be chanted aloud

Sacred fires in hot hearths would blaze

On horseback they Dniester forded

By chariot they Oxus crossed.

Undying fame may to them be awarded

Who were in waters of history lost.

They wrought cities of wood and of stone.

West of Rome and east of Shiraz!

What was theirs is now our own.

Their blood flows proud in us.

From the Pontus we rode hither

From the steppes where thunder reigns

May we prosper while enemies wither

Like the sun; our might never wanes.

From the heavens watches Sky Father

May he bless us from Indus to Rhine.

Our land is our Goddess Mother

Our children shall have what was mine!