New England Heathen - The Strange Coat

The Strange Coat

The Strange Coat

Written by Anna Bucci
Sunday, 05 October 2008
Mec se wæta wong, wundrum freorig, The earth was my mother--I was raised of his innaþe ærist cende. From her cold, wet womb. I know in my mind Ne wat ic mec beworhtne wulle flysum, I was not woven from hair or wool hærum þurh heahcræft, hygeþoncum min: By skillful hands. I have no winding wundene me ne beoð wefle, ne ic wearp hafu, Weft or warp, no thread to sing ne þurh þreata geþræcu þræd me ne hlimmeð, Its rushing song; no whirring shuttle ne æt me hrutende hrisil scriþeð, Slides through me, no weaver's sley ne mec ohwonan sceal am cnyssan. Strikes belly or back No silkworms spin Wyrmas mec ne awæfan wyrda cræftum, With inborn skill their subtle gold þa þe geolo godwebb geatwum frætwað. For my sides, yet warriors call me Wile mec mon hwæþre seþeah wide ofer eorþan A coat of joy. I do not fear hatan for hæleþum hyhtlic gewæde. The quiver's gift, the deadly arrow's flight. Saga soðcwidum, searoþoncum gleaw, If you are clever and quick with words, wordum wisfæst, hwæt þis gewæde sy. Say what this strange coat is called. To answer this riddle email: This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it
Last Updated ( Monday, 13 October 2008 )