Comrades – by Penda

| November 15, 2010

Alone I stand
On a hill of the Gods,
The wind in my hair and beard,
The pain of loss in my heart seared
With thoughts of holy comrades
Of those too far to touch.

Alone I stand,
Sword in hand held high.
A call to mighty Odin `hael’;
The response a raven’s human wail.
And each I call my comrades names
Of those too far to touch.

Alone I stand
In the New Forest glades,
Mead horn full, signed and ready,
A drink to my gods and comrades, sweet, warm and heady.
Would I but to clasp the hands
Of those too far to touch.

Alone I stand,
Cloak wrapped against the chill,
The bite of a wind from Asgard sent,
As in my heart a wound is rent.
My comrades call can heal the gouge;
My comrades too far to touch.

Category: Poetry & Prose

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