Searching For Avalon
"Oh, Gods of the sea, hark;
will this wild wind pitch us,
down, down to a watery end?
Ship's awash, pigs half-drowned;
and chickens floating away.
"What is our sin, for Thor's anger
to be kindled in bloody rage?
With each lash of his thunder,
we are hurled against the rocks.
"Where will Aegir's daughters cast;
will the fierce ones spew us out
over these widow-maker waves?
Grab those pails, sailors, bail,
lower that useless, tattered sail
"Glaucus, please, to our rescue,
we are brutally shoved about.
Triton, trumpet with your conch,
calm this storm with your horn.
"Oh, Christian, come to stern,
point that cross to the sky.
Pray to your God for mercy—
He whom you nailed to a tree—
else we perish in this sea."
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
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