From green to indigo
the valleys intermarry
shoulders, rumps and laps.
All Gisli's kids were poets,
all Egil's sons were dolts.
A woman lugs her bucket
from the talking stream
where once an outlaw gibed,
set upon by many,
out-laughed his grinning wounds.
The rain has won this barn,
the wind throws back the door
and looks you in the eye;
'if you marry me
I'll win the Nobel Prize!'