Who is she,
this woman who bestowed upon me,
underserving mortal man,
a smile nine-days-lasting?
Could it be that she is, a Valkyrie,
descended from Allfather’s Hall?
It makes a man wonder,
what the Norns have woven,
into the tapestry of fate.
Do I walk ‘neath the Ravens two?
Is those the wingbeats of destiny I hear?
Could it be that she is a descendant,
of the fair Sif?
Or is it Freya I see in her green eyes?
Have mercy on the heart,
of a mortal man,
a son of the gods ~
with no steel left in neither
heart nor eyes.
As she stands before me,
something not even Brage,
could paint in words,
so why do I try so feebly,
to do what even the god of poetry,
might not ~
I am struck with awe,
as if it had been a bolt of lightning,
a spark shot from the avnil of Tor.
Green eyes, hair of gold,
a smile both frail, beautiful and bold,
a smile that might make even a solitary man like me,
find his courage,
the courage to be as happy,
as he can be ~