The Lay of a Lady

Now tell a timeless     tale of toil
In song that soldiers     with sheathless sword
Did drum with drink     when day was done

Of when cruel war's     o'erwhelming winds          
Blew harshest harm     to home and hearth
And kith and kin     were called to keeps          

To guard the gates     from ghastly ghouls,          
No family failed     to furnish force       
To hold the havoc     from halcyon hearts.                                                     

A sad wife sent     both sire and son
To meet the moiling,      madding mob
In battle bloody,     bleak, barbaric.     

They faced the foe     with fearless faith
And back to back     they bore the brunt
Of fighting fiends     more fierce than fire.

They staunchly stood     and stayed the storm     
Till sun did set;     though cirque was safe,
Valhalla's hall     hailed heroes home.
     
She chose the cheerless      chapel chill
To mourn the martyred,      midnight till morn,
And pray for prowess     to prove her pride.

Then rose virago,     roused with wrath,
To Valkyries violent     vengeance vowed,
She seized a sword     and sallied sunward.      

She strode midst strife     with strapping strength
And wielded wildly     weapons of war
To deal dark death     to demons damned.
                         
She scorned to scape     the scathing scourge      
As scarlet splashed    from splintered skulls          
Her steel loosed stolen     souls to soar.                          

She paved her path     with pain and paid        
With heaps of headless,     hellish horrors
The spurned that spilt    her spouse's spirit.
                         
At last the loutish     lowering Lost     
Like craven cowards,     crazed and cowed,
Full fled the field     in flagrant fear.

When quenching quiet     quit the quell,
Tired tears then tailed     her tunic's tears,
Her wounds but one     of woman's woes.

She lay alone,     and left forlorn,
For those that lived     and them they loved      
With gentle geste     she gave her ghost.                
 
Mid dreadful dirge     and dreary din
Through hallowed halls     on a holy hearse
They bore her body     to a burning bier.    

As flames were fanned     up flew her fame;
Those grimly grieving     with grateful grace
In awe did offer     all honor owed:

A life well-lived     aloft uplifted,
A god-sent gift     with gallantry given,
A death redeemed     by duty done.          

E'ermore may minstrels     music make
And bards in ballads     for babes unborn
Relate in lore     a lady's legend.