"A Howe-Dweller's Dream"

A Poem/Story by Jordsvin


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“A Howe-Dweller’s Dream”


By Jordsvin


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.



Created by Chandonn and Jordsvin

all works used by permission of the authors

last modified 08/20/2004