In elder snows before the sagas,
Before Odin dreamed of womb and war,
Two brothers rose from Yggdrasil’s frost—
One wreathed in gold, one in embered maw.
Santa Klaus, the North’s bright keeper,
Born from sparks of Baldr’s grin,
Gathered laughter in his furs,
And bound it to the wintry wind.
Krampus crawled from Hel’s deep ember,
Hooves aflame upon the ice,
Tongue like a serpent tasting sin,
Eyes twin moons of mischief’s price.
Together they strode through glacier halls,
Trading gifts of joy and fright:
Klaus gave dawn to weary hearts,
Krampus stole the dreams of night.
They wagered over souls and songs—
Whose melody could move the stars?
Krampus hummed of chaos wild,
Klaus of hearths and mead-filled jars.
The gods looked down from snowy heights,
And toasted both with horns of mead,
For laughter needs its shadow-skein,
And cruelty must sow the seed.
When Ragnarok’s drums began to sound,
They met beneath the aurora’s crown.
Klaus with bells of molten gold,
Krampus chained in thorn and frown.
“Come, brother,” Klaus boomed, voice of thunder,
“Let us tend this world once more.”
Krampus grinned, uncoiling laughter,
“Let’s feed it madness, like before.”
So they spun the wintry firmament,
Klaus planting stars like apples ripe,
Krampus painting skies with ash—
A tapestry of wrong and right.
Out of that dance came color strange,
A northern light, a cosmic jest.
Children dreamt of gifts and hooves,
Of kindness, fear, and well-earned rest.
Now when the solstice wind begins,
And candles tremble in the frost,
Remember both in balance sworn—
The giver found, the taker lost.
For Santa smiles through fur and fire,
Krampus laughs through smoke and spice,
And somewhere deep in Norseborn dark,
They share one heart of mirrored ice.
Dec 5, 2025
Dec 5, 2025 at 10:48 AM UTC
In elder snows before the sagas,
Before Odin dreamed of womb and war,
Two brothers rose from Yggdrasil’s frost—
One wreathed in gold, one in embered maw.
Santa Klaus, the North’s bright keeper,
Born from sparks of Baldr’s grin,
Gathered laughter in his furs,
And bound it to the wintry wind.
Krampus crawled from Hel’s deep ember,
Hooves aflame upon the ice,
Tongue like a serpent tasting sin,
Eyes twin moons of mischief’s price.
Together they strode through glacier halls,
Trading gifts of joy and fright:
Klaus gave dawn to weary hearts,
Krampus stole the dreams of night.
They wagered over souls and songs—
Whose melody could move the stars?
Krampus hummed of chaos wild,
Klaus of hearths and mead-filled jars.
The gods looked down from snowy heights,
And toasted both with horns of mead,
For laughter needs its shadow-skein,
And cruelty must sow the seed.
When Ragnarok’s drums began to sound,
They met beneath the aurora’s crown.
Klaus with bells of molten gold,
Krampus chained in thorn and frown.
“Come, brother,” Klaus boomed, voice of thunder,
“Let us tend this world once more.”
Krampus grinned, uncoiling laughter,
“Let’s feed it madness, like before.”
So they spun the wintry firmament,
Klaus planting stars like apples ripe,
Krampus painting skies with ash—
A tapestry of wrong and right.
Out of that dance came color strange,
A northern light, a cosmic jest.
Children dreamt of gifts and hooves,
Of kindness, fear, and well-earned rest.
Now when the solstice wind begins,
And candles tremble in the frost,
Remember both in balance sworn—
The giver found, the taker lost.
For Santa smiles through fur and fire,
Krampus laughs through smoke and spice,
And somewhere deep in Norseborn dark,
They share one heart of mirrored ice.
Request permission to use this poem