Elegy for a Werewolf

My hunt is done, dare not call me man.
Nor dress me in fine silk, but in dire fur,
Shoe me not in hide, but sharpened claw,
Straighten not my limbs, but stain my teeth with blood,
House me in no casket, but howl it to the blast,
Give me not to earth or flood, but to the flame.

I am wolf
I tooth-grinder
I deep-winded
I far-chaser
I pack-biter
I the bringer-down of the prey.

Howl, chain-breaking son of trickster-sire
Howl, the dashing pair that stars devour,
Howl, the greedy ones at Grimnir’s side,
Howl, the snake-reined steeds, the troll-wives’ ride,
Howl, my pack and thane and Thing,
Howl, my kin and hearth and king
Howl the track and trail and kill,
Howl the flesh and food and fill,
Howl the grey and howl the good,
Howl, the shift and bite and blood,
Howl the grim and howl the fell,
Howl me through to halls of Hel.