Through the mists a northern ship,
Lets oars dip in water cold,
As warriors bold their axes clasp
And rough breaths rasp in hungry throats.
In wolfen cloaks they howl loud,
Fierce and proud and free to roam
So far from home yet not afraid.
Their foes waylaid and sent to Hel
And told to tell of how they passed
From first to last upon the blades—
In forest glades—of the northmen.
A ship of ten they treasure take,
And thirst they slake, with blood and mead
As fury’s freed to wander south
While bearded mouth of mighty skald
Loudly called and told of deeds
Of planted seeds that grew so tall
They could not fall to any man.
Bezerker clan leaps into lake
And like cold drake they wade ashore
Grip axe and oar in burly hands.
They scan the lands they’ve come to reave
While Southerns leave in haste and fear
As ten draw near, the moon so bright
In fell light bloody work commences.
Riot of the senses, scent of blood,
The feel of mud and steel and flesh,
Muscles thresh, the sounds of fright
And fierce delight, panic, pain and disbelief,
And sobbing grief. Then sudden still
In morning chill as pelted wolf-men,
Now nine of ten, collect their geld
From those they felled upon their boat.
With laugh and gloat they fill their fists
As through the mists they disappear.
Written using the Aicill rhyme scheme where the final word of one line rhymes with an internal word in the next rhyme.