When thou halt thy mead-horn at just a dram,
Slight does the wight 'neath Odin's piercing gaze.
The fruitful vine's kiss in goblet's palm,
A test of temperance in the twilight's haze.

In Valhalla, a warrior emerges from strife,
Each stumble a tale, inscribed in rune.
From travail and toil, we carve our life,
To falter, to rise, to the stars we attune.

In the realm of giants, a mighty steed falters,
Yellow by name, by fate undone.
In the clash of clans and creed it wavers,
A titan of wheels 'gainst the dawning sun.

by Æthelred the Skald

a centaur