First landed we buy baskets of cloudberry
vodka. This is the eve of hollow starry.
This is the stead that old maladies long.
And this mattress we must be modest with.

Our midday of chestnut-picking and throwing
we wake with double-double mountain tea,
We asked “What do you need?” in slow back tongue;
the late night doesn’t help, but polish does.

We must however leave like sea-born kings,
plenty rode and well fared on seasoned wood,
and trolls, and brown burnt gist, and tiver rings.

To the neighest tide then, mish-mash tree beards.
Us lowed for good door headstead the north ways
yet mote meet in berryings, or wines, or thralls.

Bø i Telemark, October 2017