Beneath the broad beams of Yggdrasil's bole The well lies waiting, its wide waters gleaming, Where the piercing root passes down to the primordial plane Of Ginnungagap where great dreams still glisten, hidden.
Only Odin the Allfather dares to open the well And drink deep of its darkly glowing draught. Even his eye as payment is cheap for ever-flowing insight. Odin gives it gladly, Draupnir glinting golden on his arm.
Now the eye nestles there, seeing all, knowing all. The eye of a god is a grand and glorious thing. The well holds it underwater, under wisdom, Eternally watchful as the world rolls down Wyrd's way.
This poem was written as part of the Poetry Fishbowl project, and sponsored by a patron for publication in The Wordsmith's Forge.