1 minute read
BALDER DEAD
by abjcdsss
BALDER DEAD
Only the blind could kill that goodly god. Mistletoe protrudes from his chest like a cracked rib.
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Oh! his lovely skin is broken, spills its nectar onto the ground. Like the sun emerging from cloud-banks, his smile
transfigured landscapes. Where will his laughter sound now?
Only in distant towns At nightfall, beckoning, warm. We cannot travel there;Must continue our journey.
