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Seven Winters Long (The Lay of Wayland)
Ash of Ashes
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๐ฌ๐ง English ยท Original
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From the sky they did soar
In swan-shirts clad, fates to weave
Out to the lake three sons came
To take them home wives to be
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Summers went, winters came
For Wayland's wife, filled with grief
One fine day she took flight
The royal son left in woe
To mourn, bereft of kin and of joy
Yet anvil and steel remain
Magic craft, divine flames
At his forge, Wayland stood
Crafting gold, destiny
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