"A Howe-Dweller's Dream"
A Poem/Story by Jordsvin
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“A Howe-Dweller’s Dream”
The rain falls upon my Mound.
The grass that feeds upon my ashes
will be green and fat the sheep that eat it.
I drink their blood at Winter-Blót.
The rain falls. Dew beads the grass.
Snow covers me and the lichen on my Runestone.
Old and gnarled the tree they planted on my barrow.
Yet still its apples are gold as Iđunn’s
and just as sweet. Frođi gave free-handedly
and I like Ing give still. Long-dead am I.
Yet part of me remains here still
and dreams of the Me that dreams in Alfheim.
Seers sleep upon my stone and hear my whispers.
Do they dream me? Or I dream them?
Perhaps we dream each other. Long-dead am I.
She who sleeps here tonight her grandmother was but a girl
when they lit my litch-fire. I shall greet her
with the nickname Granny gave her.
That will get her going.
My last hurrah will leave a lesson
that lingers long. This “I” that remains
begins its trek toward the rest.
Kin I’m coming whole at last.
They raise beside me another Mound.
Seiđr-Sister slumbers there tomorrow.
She shall whisper in my stead.
Thank you Thorbjorg this task will then be yours.
My work is well done. I walk the Way.
Soon this shall be just another hillock.
Long-dead am I. High time I head hence.
last modified 08/20/2004