What quarrel can I have with her
Who blackens all those lovely skies? --
Let all her heated belly quake,
And let her plumes the world surprise!
She's violent, yes, I understand,
But she's to me creative strife:
That molten heart that molds our world
Contributes to my very life.
So let her fill the ocean sky
With chalky pitch and billows grey,
For all it is to me is art
Displayed on Iceland's darkened day.
*pronounced: aye - ya - fyah - dla - jow - kudl