(For Bestla, on Woden’s Day: a poem from my 2008 book Water from the Well and Other Wyrd Tales of Odin)
You chant to the Rokkr, dark deities of dread realms,
Ruling iron forests and the caverns of the dead;
Yet how many of Them can recall
The days before the Great Tree sent up its first green shoots,
Or tell of the generations that passed
Before Urda took up Her ancient station at the holy Well?
You sing of your golden Goddesses,
Bright Ladies of Asgard’s shining halls,
Yet how many of Them gave birth
To the One who sits above Them all on His far-seeing throne,
Or guided His path from the earliest days
Before the Wanderer could walk, before the Lord of Words could speak?
You whisper of the holy Norns,
Wise weavers Who guide destiny’s slender threads.
I learned to spin and weave at Urda’s…
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