In this piece I tried to weave several strands: a pause like the Anlo-Saxon/Norse caesura; kenning-like figures; alliteration; and Irish chain rhyme. The first half of each line is narrative; the second, descriptive. Our drakkar now is homeward bound; the sea sings soft with slapping sound Round waves we brush with burnished arms; the soaring seagulls shrill alarms Harm's been our gift and not our pay; the weave is white on whaleroad's way Stray sheep like we trade blood for gold; the callow clutch of Rann is cold Bold thoughts are ours as we row home; the wrack of ravished wrecks won't roam Foam coats the prow like heady ale; Grim groaning ghosts grab gusting gale Fail not our hopes, our gods we pray; the weeds weave webs in weirdsome way Nay, help us guide our craft with skill; cold coral castles couch the krill Will we make port without a storm? our falsely friendly fears find form Wormrot we hope will by us pass; the landless lich leaves lovelorn lass Fast did we find this quandry cold: the crusted kraken's gilt with gold Bold Sea's our friend and foe, we've found; the Sea sings soft with slapping sound. copyright 23 Sep 1989 (AS XXIV), by Earle B. 'Glas' Durboraw