The Wild Hunt Of Odin Poem by Mary Champion

As the waning year nears the point of death,
the long night when the Sun stands still and turns,
when the reign of Holly gives way to the Oak,
and earth endures midwinter's fearsome breath,
the wise seek shelter, where a warm fire burns.
So have pity on those lost and foolish folk

who may witness, sweeping through the seething blast,
an unearthly procession hurtling by,
abducting those who've found no hiding place.
A throng of airborne horsemen moving fast
comes thundering across the churning sky
with flocks of owls and ravens keeping pace.

All mounted on black horses, save but one,
for heading that Wild Hunt on his white steed -
see Odin - God of war, wind and the dead,
of trance and intellectual inspiration;
protector of the ruling classes; leads
where even angels surely fear to tread.

Close beside - Valkyries -wielding spears -
those fiends who choose who lives and who will die.
Behind - berserkers, shrouded in their pelts -
ferocious foes whose totem is the bear.
Beware! Thor, God of Thunder - see him fly -
well justified the terror he begets.

Head taller than the rest, and strongly made,
flaunts the mighty hammer gods and mortals dread.
His chariot is pulled by great-horned goats.
A crown rests on his head, proudly displayed.
His cape blows wildly as he storms ahead.
A giant he, amongst these ghastly hosts.

Above the clamour, you can hear the bay
of Odin's hounds, all slavering for gore.
Flee, flee before they ride into your sight
for you, you are the quarry, you will pay
when, close upon your heels you hear the roar
as they swoop down and take you through the night

to Asgard, where you'll be a shackled slave.
There can be no escape from that cruel fate
for gods show no more mercy than do we.
This is the Wild Hunt - its portents grave -
war and plague and famine -lie in wait.
Ghost riders in the sky - bring tragedy.