Legend Of Snorro Poem by Mervyn Graham

In a heathery valley, on Hoy's fair isle,
Stands a boulder immense, where legends compile.
Within it, hollow, dwells Snorro the Dwarf,
His story, a tapestry of cunning and garf.

From lands unknown, this little man came,
His twisted form and visage, not quite the same.
A beauty in his face, perpetual and rare,
Yet vanity and ambition, his heart did ensnare.

With mirror in hand, he'd gaze at his reflection,
Demanding homage, seeking worldly affection.
The islanders sought his potions and advice,
But feared his power, his presence, not so nice.

Snorro's true quest, a gem of magic lore,
A carbuncle rare, hidden in hills of yore.
He schemed and he plotted, day and night,
To find this stone of wondrous might.

But jealousy brewed in the hearts of men,
As brothers vied for love, power, and yen.
Paul, the Silent, noble and true,
Harold, the Orator, with words to woo.

The Lady Morna, fair and sweet,
Caught in the midst of their deceit.
For Paul's love, her heart did yearn,
While Harold's desires, took a darker turn.

With potions and plots, they sought their aims,
Snorro, the Dwarf, entangled in their games.
But fate's cruel hand, dealt its blow,
As love and jealousy laid their hearts low.

A waistcoat of beauty, poisoned and dire,
Fell into Harold's grasp, fueling his ire.
In his folly, he donned the cursed attire,
And fell to its venom, consumed by its fire.

Retribution swift, on the wicked and vile,
As flames consumed them, in their exile.
Paul and Morna, their love did prevail,
A tale of happiness, in a land so frail.

And Snorro, the Dwarf, vanished from sight,
Lost in the shadows, of eternal night.
But his legacy lived on, in tales untold,
Of greed, ambition, and hearts grown cold.

So remember the tale, of Hoy's Dwarfie Stone,
Where legends are born, and destinies sown.
In heathery valleys, where echoes resound,
The saga of Snorro forever renowned.

Mervyn Graham (cc 2024)