Lady of the Vanir,
Purveyor of the mystic arts,
Goddess of battle,
What do you do with your half
of the fallen warriors?
Those who flock to your banner and
your hall in the land of elves?
Where would you lead them in
your chariot pulled by blue cats?
Does your desire
extend only to those
who battle with sharpened steel
or when it is ink
are the warriors as acclaimed?
Lady of the Vanir
your charms need no adornment.
I am not drawn to the
filigreed gems at your throat
but the lips above them,
the eyes above them,
the mind above them.
Freyja, my hands will not hold a blade.
I will never fill a chain hauberk.
I will never sail to Jotunheimr
and wage war against giants of fire and ice.
Lady, order the Valkyrie to carry me
on their wings to your hall
and until Ragnarok comes
my pen will stand in your service.
I will ride at your side
against the armies of Fenrir,
chanting songs of praise
until the nine worlds are burned and reborn.
As we gather in the ashes of Valhalla
I will write the new songs
in that time of lasting peace.