Daughter of my will, you are seduced.
Unbounded love’s terrible sorrow has cursed
Your stern detachment. I have lost my first
My greatest joy. No more will you produce
The mead Warfather takes from your strong hand
With pride in queen commander of that band
Of warrior maids no god or man can smite
For honour I must exile you, but swear
I will not leave you long abandoned there
Upon the mountain bare. I’ll cast a spell;
Brunnhilde will sleep deep, and will sleep well
Encircled by a ring of raging fire
Till Siegfried wakes you with his cool desire.
First published in Star Tips For Writers Issue 117