Keening-Kennings We who are cellar-sheltered summon you, Lightning-limbed centaur, born west of wherever We are. Ground-surrounded, we hear you But don’t fear you. Come lumbering toward us, Grumbling your thundery brogue, armed With farm machinery, but be sure you fling Winged-singers ahead of you, harbingers Of the damage you intend, so we know you Are close and can prepare our hearts for you. Barn-burner, pardon ours. Alight lightly On rod, or sink your lord-sword into sod, Or, if you just must, choose a witness-tree, An oak to cloak in flame, so we know when We surface, sail-pale, where you’ve tread.
Keening-Kennings
Keening-Kennings
Keening-Kennings
Keening-Kennings We who are cellar-sheltered summon you, Lightning-limbed centaur, born west of wherever We are. Ground-surrounded, we hear you But don’t fear you. Come lumbering toward us, Grumbling your thundery brogue, armed With farm machinery, but be sure you fling Winged-singers ahead of you, harbingers Of the damage you intend, so we know you Are close and can prepare our hearts for you. Barn-burner, pardon ours. Alight lightly On rod, or sink your lord-sword into sod, Or, if you just must, choose a witness-tree, An oak to cloak in flame, so we know when We surface, sail-pale, where you’ve tread.