Spell Of The Golden Strands Of Hair Poem by Franc Rodriguez

There was once a young king too blinded,
with wrath and under the spell of a witch.
It was said amongst the athelings that he,
was so brazen and lost in his madness.
His lovesome wife had lost within the night,
her golden hair and thus made him twitch.
And swollen with anger he sought an answer,
to lithe the harshness of her sadness.
Within the clans he sought amid the maidens,
the golden wisps of hair of his wailing lover.
And every night he would place on her head,
a newly fresh golden hair among the chosen.
But the hair would nether and quickly wither,
within the next full moon that was to hover.
And the years came to dwine within the gale,
and yet the spell had not come to be broken.
He was told within the midst of the wealds,
lain a lovely maiden who bore golden wisps.
It was a wistful tale bespoken by the elders,
that spake of a once maiden of Thor.
Then he would wend day and night to and fro,
till he found the maiden with soft wet lips.
The maiden came closer and wheedled him,
like a wanton wench who evil bore.
She stood there amid the trees still bearing,
long yellow flowing hair of gath so comely.
And the daring king smitten by love came,
from beyond hither and thither.
And she shone a glare of sparkling eyes,
which therefore sprinkled so seemingly.
It was the thought of his sorrowful wife,
which made him much too bitter.
With his sword he threatened the maiden,
within his wroth and laden haste.
What he did not know at that dreadful time,
was that before him stood the witch.
With her beswicken grin she snickered loudly,
as he began to dawdle in waste.
His body became wearisome and so laggard,
as her spell began even more to swench.
But soon he found strength in his est and love,
that quickly with his sword he slew the wearg.
Thenceforth he sliced the hair of the witch,
with his moodful wrought sword.
He rode upon the back of the wings of Thor,
where he wended from the sea onto the burg.
He reached the abode of his beloved wife,
as he brought her the gift as was his word.
Gold and said to be the craft of the dwarves,
she placed it on her hairless head.
There was no further dwale as she frolicked,
for the strands of hair rined her so kate.
Thor forsook not the wayfare of the bold king,
for the galder of the dreaded witch was dead.
The God had given him to mund and to keep,
his most thoughtful keepsake of his mate.
Soon there was to be thunder in the high sky,
within the garth beyond the widened dales.
The kingdom would befall upon Gunnvaldr,
to lead forth the mighty clans of Norsemen.
Time swinded then like the lightening of Thor,
and brought a thrust of rain onto the swales.
Henceforth the golden strands of hair of Sif,
the queen was to bear amongst the clansmen.