I write love poems for one man,
He has the blood of the Norse running through his veins.
But today, no not today, will he get a poem,
For I too have the blood of the Norse and I am in warrior mode.
I find I am infuriated by his latest endeavor,
So we shall draw Ruins until the anger subsides.
And he will see his warrior wife was right.
My Norseman walked in requesting a parlay,
A bag of sweets for his sweet.
As a warrior woman, I respect the parlay,
Negotiations, the talk I tire of quickly.
Knowing if I disrespect the parlay I will develop a soul of unrest.
The negotiations finally come to an end.
And we go on to live many more days,
In the good graces of each other’s arms.