Song of Sigyn

This is based on a Norse poetic form called a Ljóðaháttr, with bits of Galdralag thrown in. The form is based around alliteration patterns and emphasised syllable count.

The serpent’s hunger is a ceaseless storm,
A never-sated gnawing
That daily tears at the tender roots
Of the trembling World Tree.

Though mighty, straight and strong its stem,
Nine worlds shake and shudder.
Though long and lithe its limbs stretch out,
All worlds will quake and crumble;
All oceans toss and tumble;
All mountains writhe and rumble.

A lake unsounded is Urðr’s love,
A never-tiring nurture
That daily bathes the battered feet
Of the weary World Tree.

Though war and strife are weathering its crown,
Its veins pump with promise.
Though beasts forever feast upon its body,
From the fount of Fate it draws;
In the mists of Memory claws;
At the well of Wisdom paws.

A ceaseless rain is the snake's venom.
Each ever-drilling drip
Falls from on high like a hammer blow
On Loki, locked in chains.

In self-made bonds, blood of his blood,
The Tangler lies entangled.
The salmon swam into the net it knotted,
Like the sea-snake, snapping witless;
Like fettered Fenrir, powerless;
Like Hel, both whole and lifeless.

The strength of Sigyn is a sacred sword.
Each world-weighted drop
Falls from on high like a heart breaking
And quivers in her bowl of burden.

Shielding folly from its doom,
She halts the heft of vengeance.
Wielding her grief like a warrior raging,
She hurls it down the drain,
Turns boldly back again,
And sings to that searing rain:

“Though wolves will swallow the sun and moon,
I will not love them less.
I'll bathe the feet of this falling tree,
This wretched rascal liar
Who filled the gods with fire,
Vaulting their vision higher.

The gormless snake is guiltless as the storm,
A feckless force unfurling.
And Loki, I have loved your chaos,
Wild as the mounted mare,
Free as the falcon fair,
Darting where you would dare
Through shifting shapes of air.
Your weight of woe I'll wear,
And in your shame I'll share,
Till your tethers at last you'll tear
And flee this fetid lair;
By my sacred sword I swear:
Your burden is mine to bear.”