This is a small collection of bardic works by the Fir Cruthen faction, currently comprising poetry, but which will hopefully also contain art and prose.

		Speak in a whisper now Let clamours cease Nothing must dispel the gloom The faded flower we see today But yesterday was in full bloom
		Death's icy grip has seized its prey and claimed it for its own Nature's noblest work is clay The spirit flown We feel now the chill of the earth Life’s summer now flown Light has departed Darkness reigns supreme Alas, another Celt is dead. Tuathal Mac Flannagan, Wild Elf Tribal elder.

		I am the dawn in the sky, I am the spear in full flight, I am the cup in your hand, I am the voice of your land,
		I know the ways of the three in one, I know the Fae, who are long gone, I know the days, from starts to ends, I know my foes, and I know my friends, I am the breath on the tongue of wisdom, I am the heart in the body of the Kingdom I am the fire in a warrior’s eyes I am the hero that lives and dies I am kin to the old wild ones, I am kin to the bardic songs, I am kin to all that is True I am kin to your clan, and kin to you I am the sword, and I am the song I am the tongue that speaks no wrong I am the cry, the warrior’s shout I am the first to fight and not back out You know me now, you know my race, You know I bear your very own face You know my words as you know your own You know your voice, we are Fir Cruthen Morgan ap Gwneddyn, Taniaste to Fir Cruthen

		As a babe we wake and greet the dawn Of new life, and we join the song, The thing we own, and will ever have The love of the Goddess, the love of Badb
		She teaches us to live, she teaches us to fight She shapes our thoughts, so that we know right Threefold is she, as is man’s age As a youth, an adult, and venerable sage The Maiden she is strife, chaos and war She pushes us on, to live ever more She is our lover, ever by our side In mans heart does she reside The Mother is succour, aid and home She never casts us aside, to die alone From birth to death she watches her children She teaches us peace and to live with our brethren The Crone, is old, and wicked and wise She is heard in the winds howling cries To her wisdom we can but aspire For she is the end, she is our destroyer As an old one we fall, and wait for death Our sight fails, we grow short of breath But for all that we lack, one thing we still have The love of the Goddess, the Love of Badb. Morgan ap Gwneddyn