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Tyr Song

The sly god's son, slavering freely,
With lolling tongue and teeth aglisten,
Welcomes the hostage with widening maw,
Sprays spittle to spite his feeder.

Hot on the hero howls the wolf-wind,
Battle-god burning; baleful fangs
Scrape skin from the shoulder's leg.
Bare and white are the bones of the wolf-joint.

Tyr keeps troth with the trust of the wolf,
With the oath of the Aesir. Angry the heath-dweller,
Bound by the bear, by the breath of the herring,
Maidens' mouth-hair and mountain's root,

Caught by crow-spit and the cat-paw's din,
Grinds in a grimace, Gleipnir straining.
Loud is the laughter, light is the arm
Of the weakened warrior, fen-wolf's leavings.

© Math Jones, Arnstede Hearth

Hear the poem performed by Math Jones on his Digital Album, Eaglespit

Poetic form: Fornyršislag (Old Meter)

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