Poem 421 : Mótsognir
Deep within the earth where the stalagmites rise,
You will find the Dwarf called Mótsognir the Wise,
His home, a rock opening, is not very large in size,
It is quite hard to detect, even with wide open eyes.
In a place devoid of any spark, or ray of the sun's light,
Lives this little Dwarf in a black realm of perpetual night,
His eyes no longer see, they have turned to pure white,
For in the darkness Mótsognir has no use for his sight.
He stands before an Altar the Gods made from Ymir's bone,
A sacred monument to the great Jotun, now turned to stone,
Once called 'Battle Roarer' his wisdom is little, if at all known,
Older and much wiser he sits in deep contemplation all alone.
A few venture to his cave, which is cold, but too warm to form ice,
For they need answers to their questions, seek out his advice,
If you are willing to endure the journey, it is well worth the price,
Mótsognir is the cleverest Dwarf, his words are both wise and concise.
- Glenn Bergen, ( Ravensheart ), © Copyright, 2017.