Therapy for a Voelva

“Old age”was haunting the haggard voelva

Not because she was particular poorly

But because for a long while her desire 

For lust and lewdness was waning

A deep loss of a physical phenomenon 

When she no longer felt  the skin

Of a lover or a partner in crime

Then how could she not agree

That she was of an age to die -

Dormant days of wintry weather 

Inside her willowy bones and flap

Were building a marish momentum 

Of winding circuits and dantesque dams

Only to be stopped steadfastly 

With the admonished  aplomb from 

Her own owlish sister Sophia 

With whom she debated always

And never questioned her witty wisdom:

Masterly masturbation techniques

Tended with lovingly care by herself

Vigga for you the Voelva not to die

A thousand times you must help

Yourself and your body yonder

Play out whatever sordid scenarios 

You will need for your release

Massage therapy is not nearly enough 

Enliven your inner urges to surge

On gossamer gothic clouds of yore

To strengthen your sad skeleton 

You will nudge nudge nudge

Your reddish rose and inflame her

Until your breath and breasts burst

Only then will the Voelva wake up

From her drowned doomed self

And once more feel present and part

Of her own oddly shaped existence