The Voelva Vigga looked again at her internal mess
knowing that muddling around more than usual
would just intervene internally and hurt headily
The highborn Sophia, her sister, was nowhere to be found
she had moved out so long ago from helping
her younger sister - an oath she found hard to keep
Vigga had a conundrum which comically enough
she had solved herself - just from abstaining to be
or rather absolving all reasonable responsibility
She needed to walk behind the woodland ways
near her beloved brook from her bairnhood
but the mother earth had been scorched
so trees had burnt, the lovely rivulet was raven
where there were tadpoles none to tell
stories about - just silence and sadness ruled
Vigga threaded very slightly - tugging her shawl
around her - sadness was within her self
outwardly her biology followed the local biota
In this terrain she could not get her bearings
and she knew it was time to leave the forrest
in which she had stayed for blue moons
Aiee, where to? where to find cooling calmness
she loved her solitude and her forrest friends
could she go to where she knew Sophia was
Could she meander in mooring habors
looking at sails and bows of wandering boats
would she be able to adjust - ardently?
The Voelva Vigga had a convoluted conundrum
she had met her less likable self on an island
somewhere she actually loved very much
Could she shut her mouth up to hide hopelessly
her inner thoughts and learn how to howl
with the flock of fiends and friends equally
did she want to lose some of her friendly folks
for feeling proudly part of the common crowd
that was what had upset her sense of self
Alas, she needed to stay split between two worlds
as always - that made her feel part of neither
the either/or earthly delights were tempting
and could curiously become a way of life
without her self-knowledge - the hardcore
hope of being part of the earthen entity
called humanity - a humming messy meatloaf
no - she was on the sidelines - as always
sadly realizing really she was the odd outsider
Tugging at her sea-colored shawl a rough relic
from a faraway coastal area where sheep meander
along the wild windswept stones of gray granite
Vigga the Voelva started to walk again along
the now seemly barren brook with only tufts
sticking from the rough dirt on the brink
her alter ego Sophia had always tempered
her measly mood-swings; this time only
it was up the the wandering Voelva herself
