The Shield Maiden


I'm fifty summers, scarred and worn,


I was raised where lives were torn.


Beside the men, I sailed the tide,


With every raid, more screams would die.


I split a priest from neck to waist,


Watched crimson rivers spill like waste.
In fields of gore, I earned my name,


The Shield Maiden, drenched in fame.

Four daughters bear my weary face,


But they'll not stride through Odin's grace.
"Cook and kneel," the priest commands,
While men lay claim to hearts and hands.
They'll never know the rush of blood,


Or wade knee-deep in crimson flood.


No village burns beneath their might,