The Death of Ask

Beneath the shroud of that reflective pall,
The final sail retreats to dusk’s dismay –
The impassioned cry of a lover’s call –
As to ᴁgir’s fire, the bugles play.
The bow resounds its mourning twang,
As passion’s trail threads upon the sky –
The sepulchre where sweet Embla sang –  
And Vedrfolnir perches, witness from his eagle’s eye.
 
Gathering brows through ocean's  shell,
The sea becomes her lover’s tomb –
The axe that cast, the hero fell –
The heather waters of the womb.
The wood that first cast them to shore,
Now floats with flame and in glory, basks –
The father’s children to adore –
To free her birthing love, Ask.