Lir of the roiling sea, lord of the foam-flecked waves,
father of Manannan, father of the swan-children,
Lir of the lost tales, Lir called Allod of old,
I call to you. The realm of the deep is yours,
O ancient one, the waters that crest and crash
upon the coast; yours too is the might that guides
a ship to shore or pulls it down into the brine.
We know you in the cold salt spray, the icy wet
against our skin; we know you in the blood that runs
in our veins; we know you in the legacy
we share with all creatures who live upon the earth.
Lir who holds the essence of life, I honor you.

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