Another of my Old Norse originals. I don’t know that I dislike L.A. this much, but I do miss Denver this much.

Leggja hǫfuð, liggja,

langar mik til sǫngva

hrafna arna hǫfnum’s

hlýrni tindar hýrna.

Fellum vit frá fjǫllum,

fundumsk strǫndu bundin;

enn augu ván eiga

eyks skýja of reyki.

Translation: I long to to lay down my head, to lie down in the eagles’ harbors (= mountains), to hear the songs of the ravens, to see the mountain peaks brighten in the morning sky. You and I have fallen from the mountains and found ourselves bound to the shore, but my eyes still hope to see a clouds’ beast-of-burden (= mountain) over the smoke.