216. Mountain Of Fire And Ice
A steaming stone cauldron in air that was icy cold.
They called it Surturfjallið, a mountain of fire and ash,
Most times it was quiet, but this could change in a flash.
Their small village stood between the mountain and the sea,
Some were not frightened, while others were ready to flee.
From its heights it glowed red, at its base there was ice,
Out of fear the townspeople gave nine goats to sacrifice.
Years before a skald told them Surt lived inside of its cone,
From the constant rumblings, they knew he was not alone.
They begged their Gods to make the Fire Giant go away,
It seemed the more that they asked, the longer was his stay.
Then one bright day, they were awakened early in the morn,
And out of its mouth there came a slithering evil that was born.
Black ash spewed forth, blocked out the day that was sunny,
And red fire flowed down its side moving slowly like honey.
Nothing could stop its destructive power, or altar its course,
No hut, no longhouse, nor temple could withstand its force.
As fire destroyed their village, they watched from the beach,
Then they boarded their ships, and sailed out of Surt's reach.
- Glenn Bergen, ( Ravensheart ), © Copyright, 2014.