Thorn Of The Yore Poem by Franc Rodriguez

The cold waters of the sea were bustling,
with the sundry waves that would bellow.
They soon struck the depth of the strand,
as they billowed swiftly upon the shale.
And thus a fearful storm brooded thereafter,
as the bodies of the kinsfolk became yellow.
Days and nights would dwine into the mist,
till the dreary welkin no longer was hale.
The manifold dead strewn along the shoreline,
as their bodies then wafted onto the brine.
The tiding reached the thorps of the Saxons,
and the mighty king was left bemuddled.
It was said then by the kinsfolk that the Gods,
had forsaken them for the sins of the swine.
And the king had wielded with an iron fist,
and all the athelings around him huddled.
The Geats and the Picts had sought amain,
to free themselves from his ruthless thraldom.
Soon the hands of gnorkwreak would strike,
and the wrath of the bairn was not forgotten.
The harrowing threat that agrised the kinsmen,
was bred by the king through evil witchdom.
The blinding dern that the kinsmen knew not,
within the darkness was already begotten.
The elders spoke of a tale in which the king,
had born a son with a most lustful wench.
They bespoke of a witch and the lonely waif,
who he came to spurn and bereft of name.
The knucker was sent upon them to plunder,
and leave their homes with blood to drench.
And a witherwardness they could not hinder,
and the gryre of the knucker it thus became.
Without ruth the drake would come to yeet,
and gar fright upon the helpless freemen.
The athelings and the thanes fought abreast,
but their brawn would quickly be whelmed.
Amidst the forthnight of the bloody heregangs,
the strife no longer strove within the clansmen.
The might of the knucker made the clans fold,
into the full moon as they were overwhelmed.
Hitherto they were to dree and thole no more,
and the king knelt before the son he forsook.
The spurned and loathsome nithing was to be,
the king of the dreaded and mighty Saxons.
The head of the king of ere was left as a token,
for those who durst the frithstool which he took.
Henceforth the new king of the Saxons wielded,
with his sword and the strength of the Frisians.
He wielded the lands of the Saxons sixty years,
oth his greed would lead to his fiery downfall.
His wrath of fear would be written by the elders,
as his name eke would be bespoken in Saxon lore.
The wuldor of the clans was wallowing in yester,
as its time in man’s soul was no longer to befall.
Adelfrith the forsaken son of the Saxons begotten,
and forgotten, was known as the thorn of the yore.