Viking poetry for a dark, cold and rainy Sunday in the mountains.
You ask if I am happy.
Happy as the solitary pine
Naked on the mountain precipice
Writhing roots death-gripping crumbling stone
Black wind wailing ghostly requiems
Across a sky of ebony inlaid
With veins of royal purple, while I wait
Breathless, yearning for the two-edged axe
To freeze my blood, that I may warm man’s hearth.
Copyright 2013-2018 by Rose Larson aka Runa Sword