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~ By Courtesy of Others ~


High Wife

Love stretched to spindle cord
Keeps kin bound mithril-tight.
Wyrd’s weft and warp she weaves,
Wise words warm an ice cave.
Keys to kith-treasure kept,
Cunning turns flax to fame.
In feast-hall fair she rules,
Regal host, Grim’s high wife.

Mead mistress, horn filler,
Fine woman, bold bedder.
Quiet deeds quickly done:
Decisive, demure, deep.

Snorting stallions reigned with grace,
Glory for swordsmen slain,
Wounds washed for the victor,
Valour bathes the hearth hall.

Mother fierce, son’s shield firm,
Fine in oath-drawing she.
Great Baldur’s dam weeps blood
Bright on white robes, womb’s stain.
Freya’s tears tumble gold,
Grief sheds grey, bitter seas.
Mourning for morning’s light
Leads Frigg to tender heart.

© Robin Herne 2003

Robin Herne on FaceBook   *   Ipswich Pagan Council

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