A Sonnet for the End

As raging fires burn around our place

And crashing waves threaten us, unnerve us

Your old ridges and lines, most beauteous

Grant me your strength, as I caress your face

Grant me divine love, your eternal grace

For when our joints grow stiff and cold and ache

When my bones are brittle and start to break

My shaking hands destroy our blames by mace

Wiping all imperfections from our bone

Because here you are perfect, old or new

Here I am close, perfection oh so blue

A great distant sun burns brightly alone

For you, I grow the sweetest honeydew

For you, the Midgard serpent overthrown.