Zarmound

Waller, Waller, must ignite;
“Flame of evil, cursèd light,”
Some will say, but nor will I; 
Not a jibe will I imply.

Will you cater to their lies?
Lend a breath unto their sighs?
Will you shackle your desire,
Or feed the flame ‘til it grows higher?

Ware you fail before you start:
Grasp the hilt when you depart.
As a Viking, death is sweet;
Know your destiny in heat.

Lest you sacrifice in vain,
Know how much you stand to gain
When you hear Death’s rattling rasp,
When you exhale your last gasp.

Humankind, release your fears!
Humankind, unclose your ears!
Heed his words beneath the Tree:
“One and one and one make three!”

Paladin, go not tonight!
Wait two days and then take flight,
So to soar into the sky
And wave a blazing last goodbye.

- Aethelwyne’s Short Verses and Tall Tales

December 3, 1956

“Died on his birthday, poor bastard,” as they sing--or will sing—I...I'm not sure. Poor bastard, died on his birthday.

That young man was brought up right. Knew what he had to do.

I am tired and not up to form. I believe I will have Triskele read me a story. I think Ilsa will enjoy it too. I am a few years late for her hundredth, but they pass so quickly sometimes. She understands.