It's Still Life

And of this I know.

There is one called Wind-Cool.
She winter’s sire,
Fierce is its race,
Loud sounding
For measuring moons.
Eldest in days.

pä vas fyrst af mant

And there is one called
Rain’s Poison-drops.
Answer well dread race of
Ancient children
Who from frost’s arm was
Born.

Thou of old.
Thou of art.
Thou of wind over waves,
Moon’s devourer and
Troll’s first
Breath.

pä aldar rök af mant

Mighty Weavers of old
In cradles laid
At the end of
Heaven’s road, of sun and moon
Roaming and
Wandering.

sitja meirr of sáttir saman

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This is the continuation of the series of Found Poetry sourced from Ragnarök, The Elder or Poetica Edda, Commonly known as Sæmund’s Edda, a study of Teutonic Mythology and the elemental powers in chaos, Translation Series Vol. II, .st. 42-46 pg 49-53, released under the terms of CCO 1.0, Universal Public Domain. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Images and poetry ©️Misky 2006-2024.