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Folkvanger's Chosen
Hall fires flicker beneath smoke blackened rafters.
Folkvanger's tables filled with wistfull wariors.
Freya's chosen talk softly of women and children left behind.
They fight not for battle's joy, but for famine's flight,
not for hatred's heat, but hearth's hope,
not for foe's wail, but their own child's smile.
Falcon cloaked Freya wispers tidings of kin's faring,
binding her liegemen not with ringing oaths,
but words of weal for kin.
For life will Freya's folk fight when Ettins rage
and Ragnarok wakes.
This work is Copyright © 2005 Andre Mendes
and in the Common
Domain.