Unresolvèd questiouns stirreth a myghty nede of makyng; Lawes of destinee, dremes of gret grauntour, bringen childhede infinité into a wel-ysewèd tapisserie. Yeve a wey to the losten folk; Venquisshe the enmytee of chaós, of the tyme bifore thow halwed it. Y-honged by the feet, wordes weren y-shouted; Angwissh is now anothir feend y-loken in an abisme, and no man seeth it eft. Cometh togidre, my flokke, Cometh togidre in the wode, Cometh togidre bitwixe walles of ston, under hevene devyne. Sit we aboute the norisshyng welle; maketh it sacré, maketh it haly, maketh it oure owene tale. Story can’t flow always through the same river banks Every step around the flowing fate alters the soil, step on the reeds, leaving footprint some will worship, other will despise Together we were stronger Strength is not to share but to seize To grasps, to cherish, to tear, to bear, to destroy if it’s refused
