Thoughs at Lake Sjodal

Was it the mountain-horn played by the waterfalls
That once taught the skalds how to sing
And gave birth to the words Havamal
And put magic in the stories of trolls?
No country I know of
Has heard so many woodwinds and harps.
In every valley, down every cliff
The notes go ringing through your temples-
Water that sings and calls and lures you to dreams.
Now most of it’s been run into pipes
So the music is gone but i guess
It’s just like with us:
Something’s got to be tamed and turned into power and spirit
But something’s got to flow free,
like the song from Gjende Rapids over there
and in our blood,
the one that rejuvenates the world.