Beneath the storm's fierce eye, in Shell's abode,
A charge befallen, lo, a cruel vane turn'd.
The year of second quarter brought this blow,
The dragons of the upstream find their churn'd.
In realms of steel-craft'd blades and gear's delight,
Behold, the German bench of industry,
Yet came a twilight, dimming e'er their light,
As elven demands falter in decree.
When Sleipnir's kin, unto the mortal's claim,
In New York's crowded lanes their heads did clash.
Odin's ravens weep for fallen, in name,
Whilst Heimdall sounds the Gjallarhorn, a crash.
