Birdsong

So little birds that sweetly sing,
that Sigurdh told of wonders high
and mountain maiden ringed with fire;
they fly throughout the forest home
and hide their nests in shields of green.
Singing, singing,
their joy to greet the sun's bright face
and with blithe beauty fill the air.

A high hall stands on Hindar fells,
girded all with fire around;
shield-maiden slumbers sleep-thorn felled,
for hero waits to break the spell
with dreams sleep-lulled in gentle sound.
Singing, singing,
in woodland glade and meadow sweet,
as sounds of summer fill the air.

So shall we all with firm resolve
sing praises to the turning earth
and Asgardh's might and highest halls
and to the gods who made us all
and to the years of our rebirth.
Singing, singing,
to greet each morning as it dawns
and mark the turning of the year.

© J Blain 1996

sung at Trothmoot 1996

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