Northern Warriors
The beauty and the ugliness come down
Through centuries, even thousands of gene years.
The Viking look, including gold-strands’ crown
Above the forehead, come as straight as spears
To us from eras past, shafts are thrown as hard
As missiles by a bicep might be hurled,
Or harder. We can never quite discard
The beauty. Blondness straight or sometimes curled,
Or waved in loveliness, persists above
A nose of perfect shape in colored skin
That blonde-crowned girls and women fell in love
Within another eon. Long dead kin
Prevail in us or sit here on the train
Across the aisle. There is a golden chain.