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~ By Courtesy of Others ~


Long night of the Blacksmith

Bellows force the breath of fire.
Mighty arms swing with ire.
Shaped and wrought with the furnace roar.
Smiths have forged the tools of war.

Axe and sword
Spear and shield.
Bore with courage
On follies' field.

From the North, a mighty horn.
The earth shook that fateful morn.
From the east the enemy strode
Flames engulfed the ancestors' road.

Now, the bellows are silent
The anvil is cold
The halls are empty
Of the fearless and bold.

No warpipes, no horns, nary a drum.
Midgard was silent.
Ragnarok had come.

Thorfinn MacLeod

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