Brisingamen, by Ann Groa Sheffield

Time for some poetry….

Brisingamen

The first looked out – his eyes were opened
At summer´s height – his heart was softened
(Sweet murmur of sunlit water;
Swaying grace of willow´s shade.)
The forge he readied; thus he wrought:
Warmth and laughter, ease and languor
This is what he learned of love.

The next looked out – his eyes were opened
At storm and sky – his heart was seized
(Reeling currents shed the clouds;
Lightning blazes; thunder bellows.)
The forge he readied; thus he wrought:
Fire and fury, fierce delight
This is what he learned of love.

The third looked out – his eyes were opened
At gentle rain – his heart was wrung
(It drips from fir trees, iron-dark,
And stains the rock a deeper rust.)
The forge he readied; thus he wrought:
Strange contentment born of sorrow
This is what he learned of love.

The last looked up – his eyes were opened
At winter´s hoard – his heart was pierced
(Dreaming stars in darkness´ throat;
Slow kiss of windless cold.)
The forge he readied; thus he wrought:
Joy and stillness, awe and silence,
Fitting for his fairest love.

–Ann Groa Sheffiled

3 thoughts on “Brisingamen, by Ann Groa Sheffield

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