Upon this very bridge
For Tim
I did not ask to be born a Troll
But I have come to know it as an honour
The bruises and the mended bones
The secrets kept
The thieves exposed
Though we know how to weigh words
We are not like you a race of poets
We prefer the weight and sound of coins
Too often language is like a map
And all maps are liars
I did not ask to be born a Troll
But I can look each ancestor in the eye
For I have kept our pact
With the Queen of the Witches
Or else my skin would boil and blister
And shame would stain my bloodline
For seven generations or more
Know that we love our children
Like you love yours
Each one issues a particular weave of smells
I would happily die and willingly kill for
I did not ask to be born a Troll
But I am glad I am not a Man
You have forgotten fairness in your fighting
You have struck deals with the Devil
You should never have struck
I can smell His rancid promises
Curdling cowardice and greed within your veins
But the best of you I love to fight
You fight like the Men of Old
Our Grandfathers told us of
All bundled up inside a yew inside a storm inside the night
From the very weight of your belly you fight
With mud in your hair and with fire in your eyes
I did not ask to be born a Troll
But I am glad I am not a Woman
You have forgotten how good it is to smell unadorned
How glorious the reek of a warm and well-fed female
You marry men who prattle
And run from battle
You do not know your worth
But the best of you are fighters true
As fierce as the Witch who Sings through the Moon
And you dream like my Wife dreams
With a beauty borne from the Worlds Above
I would entrust you with my youngest child
I did not ask to be born a Troll
But a Troll I shall die for sure
And upon that very night
They will burn my body on yonder hill
Upon a pyre of dry and eager oak
I shall turn to flame and ash and smoke
And drift for ever more
Upon this land I know so well
Each tree
Each stream
Each den
Each creature
Shall taste a part of me
And I shall taste them all
And my eldest child shall stand upon this very bridge
Size you up
Refuse your petty silver
And ask instead for gold
For Tim
I did not ask to be born a Troll
But I have come to know it as an honour
The bruises and the mended bones
The secrets kept
The thieves exposed
Though we know how to weigh words
We are not like you a race of poets
We prefer the weight and sound of coins
Too often language is like a map
And all maps are liars
I did not ask to be born a Troll
But I can look each ancestor in the eye
For I have kept our pact
With the Queen of the Witches
Or else my skin would boil and blister
And shame would stain my bloodline
For seven generations or more
Know that we love our children
Like you love yours
Each one issues a particular weave of smells
I would happily die and willingly kill for
I did not ask to be born a Troll
But I am glad I am not a Man
You have forgotten fairness in your fighting
You have struck deals with the Devil
You should never have struck
I can smell His rancid promises
Curdling cowardice and greed within your veins
But the best of you I love to fight
You fight like the Men of Old
Our Grandfathers told us of
All bundled up inside a yew inside a storm inside the night
From the very weight of your belly you fight
With mud in your hair and with fire in your eyes
I did not ask to be born a Troll
But I am glad I am not a Woman
You have forgotten how good it is to smell unadorned
How glorious the reek of a warm and well-fed female
You marry men who prattle
And run from battle
You do not know your worth
But the best of you are fighters true
As fierce as the Witch who Sings through the Moon
And you dream like my Wife dreams
With a beauty borne from the Worlds Above
I would entrust you with my youngest child
I did not ask to be born a Troll
But a Troll I shall die for sure
And upon that very night
They will burn my body on yonder hill
Upon a pyre of dry and eager oak
I shall turn to flame and ash and smoke
And drift for ever more
Upon this land I know so well
Each tree
Each stream
Each den
Each creature
Shall taste a part of me
And I shall taste them all
And my eldest child shall stand upon this very bridge
Size you up
Refuse your petty silver
And ask instead for gold
