Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Sif's Spell

brewing, barley-hair writhing rise like snakes' lair raining
dew of deepest venom dipped in marked chalice,
brewing, Ullr's matron, mother potions thick and foggy,
filled with trance chants shrill and elvish,
Thor's bride-to-be witch-sings marvel, power into stew
for son's far faring ride 'cross winter 'scapes
where Lady Syrra lies forlorn in frozen towers,
Corn King brother bound on throne by Beli's rough howlers.
brewing, calm queen-dreams of mother earth, peace-weave
to ripen spring songs of winter's reconciliation, circle restored.

brewing, barley-hair writhing rise like snakes' lair raining
silver whispers' charms like snowflakes across brothers' mares of night.
calling, up-calling, hoping Gods of heaven hear her words so whispered
that weather's warfare might cease, and harvest come.
Elvish son so young, eager, proud, watcher of woods and wood-ways,
smiling reminisce this mistress of deer-play days boy blended in,
birches and cottonwood, still as mountain leaves, just to touch velvet fur.
calling, reaching, steam suck grasping strength, wit, will, wiles even
against the glaciers' blade-thralls looming, thundrous, all through Alfheim.
He will return ; brewing ; he must return ; steam and musk ; the Lady,
The Eldar must see her face again to rise to service of Gods once more.

brewing, barley-hair writhing rise like snakes' lair raining
drops of summoned clouds, river's might, beak and claw,
white swan-feather's wisps sunk drop seethe-cauldron.
conjure, ancient yore-day sitharin, daylings' dawn wisdom
packed, boiled, tight in the stew, potent smells and oils,
a drink to man the boy whose quest has come, and then,
placed, the half-brother feigning, mankind's poet, tastes the stew
in taking boiled birth-right of brother, brewed so love-like;
but Sif, frith sailing smooth in fay veins, merely squints, letting
breath fall like a slow canopy descending softly onto dewy lawns,
then with strength, admonishment, charges the poet to care
for tracker's kin whose wit he shortly swallowed single-gulp.
He would have the Lady, said he, but loving eyes of Ullr she saw,
and wished all well, the fates would have it, Gods bless their return.


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