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~ By Courtesy of Others ~


Freya Aswynn's Song

The raven croaks her lonely call,
the hemp-rope empty hangs,
loose dangles in damp wind.
The wolf no spindle winds,
no hearth-bread feeds her fangs,
she creeps through craggy fells,
to seek her mate unseen,
his single eye the sign
she shall not run alone.

Darkness deep between the stars,
Hel-blue the hallowed gap,
where heart may sink in heights.
Wolf gazes up at gates,
at walls no wight may leap,
and howls, in hopes he hears:
how blood aches in her breast,
how Midgard’s joys she’s missed
to have his love at last.

Above, his wind lifts empty noose,
and strokes through shining fur,
and howls to her through stones
as his voice roars through runes.
His eye gleams from afar,
and glints from mead-filled glass,
he shadows soft-furred head,
and hides in deep-blue hood
what he alone has had.

But still the wolf-maid may not ween
to sink in single eye,
nor drink his kisses’ draught -
until all life she’s left.
So, dreaming of the day
when spear shall strike her bane,
she gazes at clouds gray,
and howls her love, as he
sings back from gates of sky.

© KveldúlfR Gundarsson

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