~ Poetry by me ~
What shall I spin, sisters, what shall I spin?
A tale full of wonder, both happy and grim.
Nimble young fingers are turning the spindle,
twisting the skein of the dawn of mankind.
Stardust as wool swirls on the spool,
binding and winding the wyrd of a world.
I´ve rolled up all yarn from long ages yore--
Full is my spindle. Would you know more?
What shall I weave, sisters, what shall I weave ?
A story of man´s age, of glory and grief.
Supple hands work the warp and the weft,
shooting a thread of golden and red;
Patterns of doom appear on the loom,
the fall and the rise of foolish and wise.
The shuttle shifts to the farthest shore--
Full is my loom now. Would you know more?
What shall I cut, sisters, what shall I cut ?
A tale of all endings, of ashes and blood.
Withered old hands are whetting the knife,
clipping the cloth and ripping the strands,
sharp scissors shear the Tree from its roots,
falling stars flare in the world-fire´s glare.
I´ll sweep the floor and close the door--
I´ve cut the loose ends, sisters. Would you know more ?
© 2006 Michaela
License: This poem may be freely distributed, provided it remains
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Image: Norns, by Arthur Rackham.