Gold was a gnome of oldness,
Giving a forest of gems to us,
Meat and wine was served to us,
Iron killing had been in place.
Peace and worry were steel,
Magic was a monster, with us.
I neither hated nor thanked them,
They were monsters and joys as well,
Pondering by the humans and gnomes
That were gold within hearing.
Danger was a darkness of the wilderness,
For eyes could heal within us,
There was hitherto a decree that
Commanded the faithful
And damned them.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem