First Submission to Hoenir’s Agon
In Praise of the Marsh King
By Victoria Morelli
Swift You come, Helper to All,
Gods and men alike.
Silent yet sharp,
Sharp as a knife’s keen edge,
from You we gained the gifts
of wit and wonder.
High and Holy, the Marsh King walks,
strong of will and wisdom.
Storks and swans, cranes and ducks,
Your sacred messengers all,
and they herald the numen of Your passing.
Where You step, there is enchantment.
Where you wander, there is power.
The eldritch things that live in the mist
whisper fairy tales to hapless mortals
of red gold and blue fire and the pale God
weaving magic in the misty fen.
The strength of Your mind,
helped carve worlds into being.
The implacability of Your will,
helped drive the spear deep
into old Ymir’s guts.
Liminal places, bogs and marshland,
foggy groves, and dank swamps
are Your favored doorways,
and what comes out of them is hallowed.
You I praise, and I seek Your blessing,
Who ended a war with His uncle’s head
because He knew:
some sacred places are hungry.
Hail to the Marsh King.