The planks and oarsmen
Groaned as one,
The winds began to blow,
And at the bow, Leif Erikson’s
Unease began to grow.
He’d put his trust in Jesus now,
And sailed to serve the Lord–
Yet Odin’s raven mocked him
As the longboat left the fjord.
Soon blown off course,
He pulled aside a slave
In his distress, and said,
“Bring me your mistress, thrall,
Bring me the prophetess!”
The witch came forth,
Her robe bedecked with
Skulls and precious stones,
And calling on the Alfather,
She cast her ancient bones.
“What is it?” Leif called out to her,
“What do the old bones say?”
“They say a man should trust
His god to guide him on his way.”
And so he prayed to his new god,
And soon a land was found,
Where food and game
Were plentiful,
And “wheat and grapes” abound.
(I posted this poem a couple of years ago, it’s one of my favorites.)
michaeljordahl 