Beneath the spinning loom of night,
she weaves with hands both fierce and light,
a mother’s heart, a sovereign’s mind,
threads of fate through all mankind.

She holds the hearth, the guarded flame,
yet whispers storms that none can tame,
her softness shelters, calm and deep,
where children rest, where warriors sleep.

No crown of steel, no sharpened blade,
but strength in vows that will not fade,
her power dwells in quiet things
a word, a glance, the web she sings.

Through mist and silence, future hides,
but Frīg alone the veil divides,
she sees the path, yet will not tell,
the secret kept within her spell.

Oh goddess vast, both stern and mild,
protector, prophet, mother, wild
you teach the world what women bear:
a tender strength beyond compare.