It is as though my people were given a gift.
They will wish to slay him if he comes in arms.
We are unlike.
The wolf is on one isle, I am on another.
Firm lies that island, set among the fens,
savagery rules the men who dwell there.
They will wish to slay him if he comes in arms.
We are unlike.
I thought with hope of my wolf’s wanderings.
It rained that day, and I sat mournful,
when the bold warrior laid me in his arms,
I found pleasure in that, but also pain.
O wolf, my wolf,
your hopes have sickened me, your rare comings,
my grieving heart, not lack of nourishment.
Do you hear me, watchdog? A wolf
takes our wretched whelp into the woods.
Man may easily break what was never joined,
our story together.
Left in the Lurch 
NOTE: The above is a translation of the Old English poem “Wulf and Eadwacer”. The original poem is notable for being one of the most ambiguous complete poems in the surviving Old English corpus, for a multitude of reasons, and it has been subject to many wildly varying interpretations. As much as I love ambiguity, one needs a grounding when translating, so I chose a very specific interpretation of the poem’s meaning and translated with that in mind, then modified the poem, both semantically and formally, to make it more relatable for a 21st-century audience. This is just one reading of the poem that seems truthful to me, but I would encourage you to read other versions, as they may resonate better with you. Thank you for reading this very long caveat.