Infamous Sprig

A POV poem about the Edda's tale of the slaying of Baldr

Infamous Sprig

But a young sprig am I
Living above the world so high.

 

Watching the efforts of gods and men
Day to night,

 as the world spins.

 

My life is lonely,

my visitors few.
But for my cousins nearby,

in the alder and yew.

 

Hark, a stranger is climbing my tree !
Not the usual guest of birds or bees.

 

He is peering at me

with a sneer.
A blade in his hand.

 I can see quite clear.

 

With a flick of the knife,

I am cut free.
From my home,

 atop the old oak tree.

 

We descend into the forest below.
What an adventure

for a sprig in tow.

 

Never before ,

had I dreamed.
A purpose for me.

It never had seemed.

 

Will I be a rune stave?
Telling the future and more.

 

Or Will I be the haft.

Of a great mans sword?
Gripped with valor.

 Defending his Lord.

 

I am stripped my twigs,

bark and leaves.
Turned straight and true,

but for what means?

 

My maker and I have

 come to a hall.
Merry music and boasting,

 Heard from them all.

A contest of might
Against the son so bright.

 

Hammers, axes,

 spears and swords
Make no mark.

On the fairest of lords.

 

My maker bids

the sightless brother of light.
Take you this arrow .

I will aim its flight.

 

I am loose!

Through the air I soar.
Flying in joy.

 At the Allfathers boy.

 

I have pierced into the darkness of flesh.
How is it I have surpassed the rest?

 

Pulled from gore

 and cast aside.
Have I just slain Asgard’s pride?

 

Evil has fallen upon a little sprig such as me.
Once merry and watchful from my old oak tree.

 

Oh, how I wish for wings,

 to flee and hide!
And forget the day

 that Frigga cried.

Now cursed and fated

 For ill fame
I am mistletoe no more,
But Baldr’s bane.

© Thorfinn MacLeod