Frost feathers materialize,
As pale stars in the ashen skies.
In the bliss of annihilation--
Or of blessed creation?
Whirring... Warring...
Descending, now slowly.
To the Earth, from the heavens--
Or from Kari, unto Urd?
And what, when all burns,
There in the golden urn?
Wouldst thou have wept ere Dawn instead,
For the flame to disappear?
From the Earth, to the heavens--
Or from Loge, unto Urd?
Ascending... Contending...
Both forever, and never.
