Such things bring strife amongst my folk.
They will destroy him
if he comes in threat.
We are not the same.
Wulf is on one island,
I the other.
That island is anchored
deep in the marsh,
a nation of cruel killers.
They will destroy him
if he comes in threat.
We are not the same.
I brooded and pined for wandering Wulf,
ensconced in my grief,
steeped in the rain,
yet when the bold one pulled me close,
I perished in pleasure,
but lived in pain.
O Wulf, my Wulf,
my sickness is longing
your seldom-coming,
my spirit’s mourning,
not mere lack of food.
Do you hear, Eadwacer?
Wulf bears the wretched
thing
we made into the woods.
He tears what was never seamed,
the tapestry of 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, throwing all fucks to the wind, I rewrote it in contemporary free verse. 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.