valhalla

Sigerd was an Odin man, the last of Pagan kind,
For churchmen ruled the countryside and all men they could find.
But Sigerd prayed to Odin god with heart and soul and mind
In hopes that he would reach Valhalla.

Sigerd died in battle, crying "Odin" to the last,
Beyond the reach of churchmen's heaven his soul speeded fast.
But when he reached the Deep Frost Bridge, he found the gates barred fast.
Alas no entry to Vahalla.

Then Odin's voice called to him then, "The gate thou not unbar.
For we are under seige, with churchmen's heaven, we're at war.
Yet I shall keep my pledge to you, though you must wander far,
Still I shall bring you to Valhalla."

The winds of time took Sigerd then, and whipped him down the years.
They burned away his memories of love and hope and fear,
And left him as a new born babe whoes formost cries and tears,
Were for lost promise of Valhalla.

This age and name fit ill on him; he grew to man's estate,
A thoughtful, bookish, lonely lad who felt betrayed by fate,
Who dreamed, and read, and oft regretted he was born too late
For the age of Odin and Valhalla.

Then he came upon Anachronist's who kept the ancient skills.
Gladly did he join with them and practice with all will.
For he felt an old hope stirring as he presisted still,
A long step closer to Valhalla.

He called himself Lord Sigerd now; he dressed in black bearskins.
He hastened through his dutied to his mundane work and kin,
For in the weekend combat, he could feel the veil wear thin,
'Till it seemed he could almost reach Valhalla.

In time he won a Baron's rank; the folk bowed down before.
At length a herald rose and said "My Lord, you could do more.
Pray bring your skills with us this year out to the Eastern War,
It's the next best thing to old Valhalla!"

So Sigerd went to war that year and stared at what he found;
The ancient art, the armoured folk, the clanging battle ground,
The market place, them meadhall, the campsites sprawling round
And he felt time shift him to Valhalla.

For look the warriors battle there so merrily all day,
And maidens ressurected everyone the strokes would slay.
And in the meadhall they would feast and sing the night away.
Oh it fit all descriptions of Valhalla.

Was true, it wasn't perfect, there was war but twice year,
With lesser revels once a month in Kingdoms far and near.
And all the dreary lesser days the mundane world was here,
But it was close enough to call Valhalla.

Be careful what Paradise you deal,
What hope you make other dreamers feel.
For if too many hear it, they will struggle to draw near it,
And in the search, they just might make it real.

So every war and revel now, go to the feasting hall,
And there you'll find a Viking lord named Sigerd standing tall,
And giving thanks to Odin for the pledge kept after all,
Singing "Yo ho! Welcome to Valhalla!
For we have made our own Valhalla!
Yes we are the builders of Valhalla!"

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