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From icy void, a giant stirred,
Ymir, the first, his body blurred.
No sun, no moon, no stars to gleam,
Just primal frost, a waking dream.

Then Auðumbla, the cow of might,
Licked salt from ice, with all her light.
And from the ice, a god arose,
Búri, the ancestor, as legend goes.

The Æsir came, with Odin's lead,
Gods of battle, sowing seed
Of power vast, and iron hand,
A ruling force across the land.

The Vanir bloomed, a fertile grace,
Freyja's beauty, in time and space.
They brought the harvest, rich and bold,
A story woven, silver and gold.

Yggdrasil, the world tree tall,
Connecting realms, to heed its call.
Asgard above, where gods reside,
Midgard below, where humans stride.
And Helheim dark, a chilling keep,
Where souls are lost, in endless sleep.

But shadows rise, a chilling fate,
Ragnarök nears, sealed by hate.
Giants gather, a fearsome horde,
Against the gods, with a sharpened sword.

The final battle, light and dark,
A crashing wave, a dying spark.
The world ablaze, the heavens fall,
An ending grim, consuming all.

Yet from the ashes, new life will bloom,
A verdant earth, escaping doom.
A reborn world, a promise bright,
After the darkness, comes the light.

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