The Valkyrie:

Come weary traveller, rest your feet.
Here. Yes, that's right dear, take a seat
And let me bring a welcome flagon.
Beer or mead? Don't fear the "wagon"
We all fall off from time to time, yes.
Sit still and drink it dear, be my guest.
I know your thirst, I see your hunger.
Quit that smirking. Admit: you wonder
How I know? Well, many a lonely
Night I've sat in soft moonlight, only
Awaiting your Divinely ordained arrival.
Right! You won the final fight! Survival
Of the fittest, as they all say, dear.
All the others fade, fall, and disappear.
Die perhaps? Who knows what takes them?
Mauled by claws, The All forsakes them.
Ah, to the winners He grants eternity
To play, wile the hours away with me,
Succoured and wrapped up in my arms.
Allayed by my bountiful display of charms.

The Warrior:

Death came on fast like a winter storm.
In went the blade, long, thin, and warm.
After the pounding of unshod hooves
Sins wiped away, I begin to remove
My blood-soaked gear. I walk to the light.
There in the radiance, despair of the night,
A blonde sword-maiden offers a drink.
Dare I accept it? So fair, I just blink.
Abashed by discomfort I smirk as she beams.
"Mead, m'lady." My ears heed her words
She proclaims my hunger, discards my swords.
I plead for her answer. "Godspeed, tell me how
I came to be here. An army, a battle... but now
Stand I before you disrobed, hand about
A cold frothy flagon, and I a Chief in devout
Command over hundreds. Lands I held,
Horses, vassals, and a score of wives."
We won? But as sure as the sun arrives
In the East each day I say I was slain.
I shun this reward, if it is one. "Refrain
From touching me, lady, I will not stay
To rest at your feet forever nor a day."


Penned by my hand on the 16th of Aeguary, in the year 392 AF.