This is after Y Gododdyn and the lament of Llywarth Hen. Annie composed it.
The men went to the Flyting with humour and wittiness,
Keen were they in the wordplay, displaying their blades,
Though they came to Eratosphere to do battle
The inevitable stilling of tongues was to silence them…
The men went to the Flyting, loquacious was their host;
Fresh venom was their feast, and also their poison.
Quite a few were contending with weapons;
And after sportive mirth, stillness ensued…
The hall of Our Nigel is dark tonight,
Without fire, without songs.
Lacking warmth, lacking light.
I will weep awhile and then be silent…
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