Death stirs all ways like the wind
like something getting up to go,

and like the wind death doesn't
leave anywhere alone,

but where it is he travels with
whoever take his guiding hand,

gladly will I wait until
                     I die to understand ..

From glistening streamlet stones
the sparkling sun life river
ripples with ephemeral gems,
priceless, richer than diamonds.

Unavailable to the banker's vault.
Unmeasurable by the carat.
Free to anyone who cares to look.
Frames memories of lovers' smiles.

She called me from downstairs.
There's some gear, medical stuff
outside, two cases, a midwife's
instruments, why put them here?

Don't touch them, you never know
these days, perhaps they're from next
door. She's a midwife, so I hear.
I'll ask them to identify.

They checked and foud her car unlocked.
But why left for us to find?
A joke? A cruel comment,
mocking us who nest no more.

Gudron graced many a viking's visions,
like a Helen or a Guenevere.
But no ray of light could be shone
on her four disturbing dreams.

Until one day a wise kinsman called,
a dream interpreter, who told her
that she would outlast four husbands.
His foretelling came to pass.

But she never wed the man she loved.
He set sail. Gudron remained.
Iceland's first christian nun.