So. The Spear-Danes in days gone by
and the kings who ruled them had courage and greatness.
We have heard of those princes’ heroic campaigns.

Mild rain ticks in the gutter and against the windowpanes, and the maples are shedding their last few leaves. Autumn is drawing to a close. In three days my youngest child will celebrate his 18th birthday in the same way he celebrated his 17th--by breaking his heart at a soccer game. Deja vu all over again, I fear. But then again, the gods and heroes may storm onto the field with their thunderbolts and spears. Such things do happen.

At times the war-band broke into a gallop,
letting their chestnut horses race
wherever they found the going good
on those well-known tracks. Meanwhile, a thane
of the king’s household, a carrier of tales,
a traditional singer deeply schooled
in the lore of the past, linked a new theme
to a strict metre.

Also, Spear-Danes love birthday cupcakes with sprinkles on top. So I, too, have my allotted role in the tale.