Doom Solig

Gingerly sweet the whisper seeps

Through the forest so deep

Beyond the king of three winters go

A freshly fallen virgin snow

Deep in the abyss kindles a spark

Can you hear the silenced lark?

Soft and tender my journey's step

To the old woman who has wept

The perilous forest is unforgiving

Especially to those among the living

Weeping still she rests near the stream

Echoes not her grieving scream

Curious eyes watch in sorrow

for none know what comes the morrow

Upon bended knee in the moon's glow

A solitary tear to the stream below

She cradles the warrior like a child

Deep within this forest so wild

Tarnished armour blades of rust

So fragile this tender trust

Linger long her mournful sobs

For a life the gods have robbed

Brave warrior of old all agree

But fate comes to even thee.

Keep in mind before you read this, and it will be painfully obvious to many, I am not a writer and in forty years I cared not to read anything fiction....so with that, let me know your thoughts and constructive critics.

Gingerly sweet the whisper seeps

Through the forest so deep

Beyond the king of three winters go

A freshly fallen virgin snow

Deep in the abyss kindles a spark

Can you hear the silenced lark?

Soft and tender my journey's step

To the old woman who has wept

The perilous forest is unforgiving

Especially to those among the living

Weeping still she rests near the stream

Echoes not her grieving scream

Curious eyes watch in sorrow

for none know what comes the morrow

Upon bended knee in the moon's glow

A solitary tear to the stream below

She cradles the warrior like a child

Deep within this forest so wild

Tarnished armour blades of rust

So fragile this tender trust

Linger long her mournful sobs

For a life the gods have robbed

Brave warrior of old all agree

But fate comes to even thee.

Gentle and sweet the whisper seeps in the forest so deep beyond where

the king of three winters grow in the forest so dark there lies a spark.

Can you hear the silenced lark?

Soft and tender is my step to the old woman who has wept for the things

she has not kept. The forest is unforgiving for those among the living

but there she sits at the singing spring defiant to her fears and still

can she hear?

Curious eyes watch in sorrow for none know what brings on the morrow.

I kneal in the fern in the moon's glow and feel the tear trickle below.

She cradles the warrior like a child deep within this forest so wild.

Limb to limb, root to root I dance but not once did our eyes meet to

chance. In the moss they search for what is lost, their way distorted

and amiss to find a place like this.

Rustle the leaves for my whispers are free. Her sobs tell of the soul

the gods have robbed, brave he must have been this warrior she cradles.

Silent feet lead me close within the shadows of her soul.

"You hear me dont you healer? What will cure his wound grows deep in

the thistle dew, take my hand for I am no different than you and I will

show you where they grow. Fear not for your warrior so bold and brave

for this place will not be his grave if you truly believe."

Gentle and sweet the whisper seeps in the forest so deep beyond where

the king of three winters grow in the forest so dark there lies a spark.

Can you hear the silenced lark?

Soft and tender is my step to the old woman who has wept for the things

she has not kept. The forest is unforgiving for those among the living

but there she sits at the singing spring defiant to her fears and still

can she hear?

Curious eyes watch in sorrow for none know what brings on the morrow.

I kneal in the fern in the moon's glow and feel the tear trickle below.

She cradles the warrior like a child deep within this forest so wild.

Limb to limb, root to root I dance but not once did our eyes meet to

chance. In the moss they search for what is lost, their way distorted

and amiss to find a place like this.

Rustle the leaves for my whispers are free. Her sobs tell of the soul

the gods have robbed, brave he must have been this warrior she cradles.

Silent feet lead me close within the shadows of her soul.

"You hear me dont you healer? What will cure his wound grows deep in

the thistle dew, take my hand for I am no different than you and I will

show you where they grow. Fear not for your warrior so bold and brave

for this place will not be his grave if you truly believe."

Gentle falls the tears of the cloud

upon the rippled waters of my soul

Whispers dance upon the breeze

in a forest where the ancient's weep

Rustling leaves under tender foot

shatters the silence of old

to where the warrior sits alone

and ponders the sounds of war

I read once an edict from the Pope in 1020 began it for those in northern Sweden and Anund Jakob led an army in 1050 north, but is there proof this is when it started or was it a century later in Finland? Keep in mind,the northern crusades,not middle east.