The Skald

Many moons and long ago an epic crisis rose
Mortal mission to the world eclipsed the Poet’s pose
Entry after entry he had written many times
Crafting tales of wonder in a plethora of rhymes
Cultivated in his skill, a skald unto the Norns
Waiting patiently for fate to blow its ardent horns
Then he met with Beowulf and learned of ancient plight
Then he learned of Grendel and of what it means to fight
Fingers to the keyboard, he composed what came before
This time with much fervor, setting pace in rhythmic score
Lo, iambic tetrameter was the flowing blood
Washing o’er it’s presence; o’er this epic’s raining flood
Beowulf seemed pleasant as the words the skald would write
Sometimes in the morning; sometimes written late at night
Many tales have come and many tales have yet to spin
Beowulf still listens and the good guys, they still win
Though the tired cliche might get its arm pulled out of whack
Still the skald is writing and he’ll keep the plot on track
Nearly forty-two and still the wonder of a child
Drives this Poet’s privy mostly calm, but often wild
Everything is changing and the changes are worth while
Now it won’t be long and Beowulf will thank Stitched Smile
They the house that took him and his skald to be their own
I, James Matthew Byers, to the world now make it known …