Wallking with a Vølva

Vigga the Vølva's winter hiding hut
was warm and very welcoming
a day of quiet was sorely needed
her beaten batteries overwhelmed
 she mulled over mulled tea or
rather reasoned that she had for
two taxing days not done
her own bidding of honing her health
but she decided definitely to walk
where she so often took herself.
The windy winding road
ahead of the wanting woman
wailed while she the Vølva
trotted on the threadbare thimble
of the woodland trail in the chilly sun.
She was mulling that one day she
would meet her death hoping
it would be here in the heavenly
little place - idiotically simple -
but sustaining her ever searching soul
following her path patiently -
alas the Faustian fallacy that she
must try everything once but
middle age had taught her
it is not possible -  a distant
fathom prime fata morgana
or a cosmic trip of colossal
incredibly ironic illusions.
She the Vølva Vigga voiced
that she had to carry on walking
and she shook herself getting up
from the rest back to reality.
Eliminating her everlasting dreams
would be too hard but backburn them
for a while - where reality sets in
and that hit her harrowingly again.