Mistletoe by Sorn and Patricia/Adastra

Though Frigga and the others were warned And (nearly) all the world made to swear, The God of Tears (nearly) all the world mourned. In Asgarð’s games blind Höðr could not share, No shield-sorrow or blood-serpent to throw, Until the Sly One gave him Nanna’s despair:

A slim little wound-bee, who could know This thorn of tree’s leech could be so fell That its sting would bring Oðinsson low?

Fjörgynn’s Daughter believed she’d planned well, But Wolf’s Father with wiles of his own Helped Baldr to the cold bed of Hel.

More deadly this twig than a stone, Cut by a small and sharp knife, And on branch of oak had it grown.

Robbed Baldr of joy and of life, In a story we all know so well, Broke the heart of Nanna his wife

And sent the belovèd to Hel, To the arms of the Queen of the dead, There in her presence to dwell.

© 2005 Sorn Skald (stanzas 1-4), Patricia aka Adastra (stanzas 5-7)

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