Behold my jo, my bundle of sinew and hide and quintessence,
Who bled the sun himself when spring crops faltered,
Who shoots a sandy eye down the shingle to soothe the tide,
Who stirs maternal heartpangs down a righteous beastly welter.
It lies to me to lay cobble by cobble a kingly lane for my boy,
With secret pot herbs his vigor and ingenuity,
With a breeze whistled from my lips to weaken his hidden foe,
With all the shield companions to ride as undying legend.
Deadly bronze the spear, I lap oath-sweetening serpent edges,
From frail rock roasted and poured out the alloy of heaven,
From womanly lore to turn aside the agony of body and mind,
From all the traps of envy betwixt town and wild coven.
See! From the day thou spilled forth into the light,
This savage loyal heart prays she’ll not lose thee to the night.
