Courtesy of Others ~
On Samsey Isle they drum the beat,
while staging here their hallowed moots,
search secrets for the minds repleat
and clamber on that great trees roots.
In rythmic tones they chant and sing,
on elven mounds sit out to seithe,
wait wisdom two dark ravens bring,
or pick among the three dames weave.
Round holy fires they leap and dance,
pass deftly through the gates of Hel,
abstracted in their sacred trance
or quenching thirst at Mimir's well.
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