Danger, daggers, dragons in barrow-hoards –
nothing could stop them, no one resisted
those fiery hands that fluttered out towards
eyelids of heathens – heroes desisted:
Fury flowed from the firth, necks were cracked back,
and I've lost my place; there's nothing to say
when life is a flutter from full to lack
and all bones from head to neck and back crack:
If heroes can desist, so can this thing
that traced out a path and left it behind
like a thought half-forgot, or smoldering
flames put out in haste – the devil's behind:
Camp and crumble – your choice – or run and hide;
What's a wifey if she ain't down to ride?

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