I made you a
waistcoat,
from the finest flea market cloth,
stitched with golden thread:
but a Viking wind struck,
– the thread was pillaged,
Seized from my grip and dragged
through the bay window:
Waistcoat wrapped, mercilessly to the Apple Tree.
In the morning, the tree stood tall,
though withered from the storm;
offered the waistcoat back like a peace offering-
The Gods had decided:
That evening I set fire to the tree;
As the funeral pyre burned,
I said goodbye to you.
……………………………………