We are progressing upstream, no sighting yet.
Their gods are letting us pass unmolested.
Even the sun beckons us up these blue waters,
but the cliffs are closing in, scarved with the icy
torrents of waterfalls spilling their glacial flux.

In the distance is a great broad path, paved
in crazy glazing, glinting in the sun.
There's no escaping this snare's enchantment.

Surely, they don't take us for their pirate
longboat returning to digorge its stolen treasures.

Somewhere Thor's hammer is at work. We pray
we will be spared his unforgiving anvil,
for we come only with our tourist tribute.