The bookkeeper's letter

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 Mine were veins, blood coarsin'...


Silver streaked veins to this cave, but I prefer peat and it's moss...


Smitten on avil, the rusty hammer's sparks arisin' 


Mine were gloss, or perhaps loss? Can't seem to find the seam, these memories all stitched as one painful suture; ever forced to wear this couture...


She had surtyr's fire, but hailed from nilfheilm...

His heart stolen by this sinmara, though he was from muspellheim...


So dejected & fallen, now I seek pollen; 'roused awake at first light, to me, this memory of her ever so bright


Dated be memory, faded be sights but light-towers weather any storm... will ye be gone come morn'?


A lassie, of lilac and gooseberries - I ferry oceans away but she frets away any regret... huh, thought I had more grit...


Would I close this chapter; I'd tear apart the chapel - unravel all what was twisted over...


A steed or stallion? Didnt matter, smashed stood my battalion... no chain mail or trenched affair was this - but of heart weary and withered... aching with her frostbite; my pyre to smite...

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