The King's Berserker
He let his truly magnificent deeds tell his life's story.
A berserker, he fought as hard as he drained his mead,
Followed few rules, he lived his life by a warrior' s creed.
He wore a bear skin, with no mail, or helm upon his head,
If he were cut by an enemy's weapon, he laughed as he bled.
His great sword was heavy, and in length it was quite long,
Few if any could wield it, for they were not nearly as strong.
The king told him many times, that he was a special breed,
And at the start of every battle, the king put him in the lead.
He made his lord proud, mowed down the enemy like wheat,
Their bloody bodies lay scattered on the ground at his feet.
One day in battle, he saw his king lying injured on the ground,
The berserker attacked at once, screaming an insane sound.
In an instant fifteen of the enemy, fell before his sword dead,
But as he stood triumphant, a coward's arrow pierced his head.
The grieving king had the body of the bravest of the Norse,
Brought back to his kingdom, laid across his own horse.
The king ordered at once a great burial mound to be raised,
And from that day forward Egil One - Hand was praised !
- Glenn Bergen, ( Ravensheart ), © Copyright, 2014.