Hoofbeats' gentle thud as we ride into your courtyard
my feet raise dust as I walk slowly to the door
rehearsing in my mind the words I must say.
Lady, he slew many foes,
Your Bródir, he fell singing.
You stand, the baby on your hip, bright hair down your back,
your eyes touch the sword in my hands, your man's blade,
and crumple.
Lady, he slew many foes,
Your Bródir, he fell singing.
You take the sword in one small strong hand, shifting the babe,
thanking me gravely, but your blue eyes like wet steel
whelm with grief, making me wish I had been
the one to fall
and not my heart-friend.
Lady, he slew many foes,
Your Bródir, he fell singing.