Dark
clouds appear, Ragnarok it begins;
Our
Witan thought not of this dim nightmare.
The
dark elves gather to fire their elf shot,
Flying
venom lands here and everywhere.
Folk
scurry and fight out of fear as the;
Smithers
work hard and forge the dark elf shot.
Pestilence
befalls the towns and heathland,
Loki
is about he weaves his dark plot.
The
kindly Angel of Death roams the land;
Who
can he help to cross over or spare.
Wilt
the coming season the grey beards see,
The
great mead halls of Valhalla prepare.
No
elder old enough to point the way,
The
many grey haired had best stay inside.
The
quarantine bell is about to toll,
We
will see each other on the other side.
Copyright
Andrew Rea on the feast of St Benedict 2020
(The
patron saint of Europe)
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