A Viking’s Ode to Bathing

Upon the dawn of Saturday’s light,
We rise to cleanse in waters bright.
Through fjords and streams so wild and free,
We bathe beneath the elder tree.

The rivers rush, the springs run clear,
Their icy touch, a gift most dear.
The Gods decree, the flesh must shine,
A Viking clean in heart and mind.

Odin’s wisdom, Freyja’s grace,
Flow within this sacred place.
The water’s kiss, the soul renews,
As sunlight warms the morning dews.

While other lands do stink and rot,
With filth and grime their skins are fraught.
Their stench so thick, their breath so vile,
A plague upon the very Nile!

But we, the Northmen, fresh and pure,
Our scent of pine and winds endure.
The Franks may boast, the Saxons lie,
Yet in their filth, they swat the fly.

For what is strength if not displayed,
Through cleanly form and skin arrayed?
A warrior’s might, a maiden’s glow,
Both sharpened where the cold tides flow.

So to the waters, every week,
We cast away the filth we reek.
And those who shun this Norseman’s way,
Shall smell like death and rot away!

🔥 Let every Viking heed this lore,
🔥 And bathe, as we have done before!