Ship Herd
The gulls bring word of you who widely fares
to tell the fishes where to find our net;
they've come from Noatun to claim their shares,
like you at home both in the dry and wet.
Within your waters play the Sisters Nine
who bask in rising Sunna's brilliant blush,
as waves frolick in the golden shine
until the purple nightfall's gentle hush.
O tranquil Lord of seven surging seas,
send wind to fill our sails, and grant us all
to pass to our ports with grace and ease
over the depths of Ran's and Aegir's Hall.
And let us in the midst of storms be stout,
firm as an anchor in the shifting sands,
that change and stay the same, tide in, tide out,
beneath your briny realm that bounds the lands.
© 2009 Michaela Macha of Odin's Gift
- This poem is in the Common Domain
and may be freely distributed
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