Just thought I would share a little of my self torture project.
Listen now and learn the
lore of Danish Kings, the
daring deeds of great men
dancing in the steel rain.
Scyld Scefing mighty Jarl
scourge to many tribes lands,
floating free a child was
found on whale's road drifting.
Praise he won and power,
prospered in his new land.
Lord of Spear Danes striking
swiftly, ever flowing
fear among his foes,
fast the honor holding.
Great the grace to him was
granted, wisdom hoarded.
Swiftly does the steed of
sails now ride the Blood of
Ymer, bearing all the
honored ring men able.
Many are the men who
must pay tribute to the
breaker of rings borne to
benches of the mead hall.
Son of Scyld was Beow.
Strong and honored by the
Danes as daring for the
dance of iron, as for
gifts from father granted.
Grand the renown spread to
lands abroad and lords who
love the Danes, or do not.
Yet must Scyld still yield to
yearning of the mead bench.
Valaskjalf will voice, the
valkyires will come, and
with the One-Eye Scyld is
waiting. Einherar for
Ragnarok to rage in
rivers of the burning.
Raised on shoulders round and
rolled with grief, will Scyld now
take the road he traveled,
tossed so long ago
on restless waves. The ring-prowed
reaver waits so eager,
patience wars with purpose.
Proud and tall the bearer.
