All the world was covered in a white frosting,
glistening under a slice of the moon.
Like a pale rising star on this Mother Night,
shines upon the moor a bright noon.
We huddled as feeble field mice in the frigid fright
and dare the disir for a boon.
Humble boasting and well wishing,
to the Norns the crowd will croon
You weave the wyrd,
from babes to old crones we grow soon.
mother night- christmas eve,
disir – ancestral spirits [female],
norns-weavers of wyrd/fate