Valhalla

Secure beneath his darkness’ shroud,
soothed by sips, his old spirit’s wine,
blithe in the vim, his Viking line,
that wars for her with love unbowed,
for she is his Valhalla vowed,
with heart lain bare in leathered hands,
that miss her touch in foreign lands,
her home shall be whither he stands,
filled with passion feral yet pearled,
she knows he’d set fire to the world,
 should that be what her love commands.

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I wrote this poem in the form of a decima.