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Two children with beauty fine to view,
The Norns had twisted a future wry,
Weaving their lives in skies of black and blue.
Mundilfariís kin he held in esteem so high,
Their beauty so fine and wonderfully pure,
He named them as satellites of the sky.
So haughty was their father from that pleasure,
That the gods were angered by his arrogance
And forced that man to give up his seeded treasure,
Those siblings who oft now look behind with worried glance
While racing madly on their path
Of dangerous, celestial sky-parlance.
Placed above by great elders of guile and craft,
Those youngsters their fatherís immodesty rue,
As everyday Ďround Midgardh they track their path.
The butterfly drinks the morning dew,
As Alsvid and Arvak pull Sunna by,
And the morn brightens from darkest blue.
Itís a startling thing to see horses fly,
Let alone those who bear Svalinís shield,
And run with a glorious maiden through the sky.
The wolf, Hati, follows close to her heels,
As running swiftly, her horses prance.
Hunting, that wolf, seeking Sunnaís light to kill.
In turn, the world each night lies seemingly entranced,
While wolf and Dragon-Moon fly by,
As Mani, Skoll-Wolf fleeing, does his luminescent dance.
Thus, a daily cycle enacts on high
Of light and dark, of race for life.
Moons, Sun and wolves rush through the sky.
Of such drama are the nine worlds rife,
As warms the day and cools the night.
Achieving balance from the strife.
Jackie Hannigan November 7, 2003
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Scrying the Well
Poetic form: Terza Rima
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