Scowl Of The Ents

A tale of the ents of Nordic lore.

The blustery winter had swiftly fallen, 
Upon the lands thither within the dales,
As the water froze onto the frost of ice, 
Which thickened eft the narrow fjords. 

The grasp of the wintry cold slowly, 
Overlapped the nearby murky swales,
Where the freck striplings with time, 
Sought wisdom amongst the lords. 

The tidings of ents from the wealds, 
Gart a fear with the tale men spoke, 
With the kings wary of a threat nigh, 
Upon those thorps beyond the slade.

They came as a clatter of thunder, 
And a blizzard of might that awoke,
As a clump of the tall trees wending, 
With long claws within a sharp blade.

Dreadful guises that amazed with awe, 
Whilst a nightmare for the thorps yare,
As the bain kinsmen huddled together, 
To wear wearisome flanks for the gore.

Hard boulders thrown to thwart blive, 
Their onslaught within the smolt glare,
With the struggle that egged the ents, 
Into the wrath that stirred them more. 

The bellow and eldritch birr heard oft, 
And quickly each thumped the ground,
When the bodies of the athelings flew, 
And scattered onto the broadest knolls. 

Manifold burgwares found themselves, 
Heaped easily upon the hoven mound,
Whilst those who withstood still upright, 
Became soon thralls by the wizen trolls. 

The ents along with the ugsome worn, 
Did not halt their nith upon their lands,
As in the mist of the moon time dwined, 
With no way forthwith to halt the threat.

From the ridge came wights to foreslay, 
The ents and trolls from yonder strands,
Abreast the heights of stour berserkers, 
Whence many Norsemen began to sweat. 

Chosen to wield the froward thurses, 
Within their wrecking path of deaths,
On a misty day as brazen berserkers, 
Abided upon an edge lapped in ice.

The wild ents came forth blowing, 
With all the might of their breaths,
As men forbore their harsh onset, 
They glowered upon them thrice. 

The thurses scowled in their anger, 
Walked toward icy waters of bane,
As the ice cracked and the ents fell, 
Into the blinding storm of swelgends. 

The gods spared the breme Norsemen, 
As the great scowl of the ents did wane,
With the leery tale of the tall trees told, 
And found within a rune of the wigends.