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The poet writes what the scop once sang,
That "Beowulf his word-hord onleac,"
The hero to Spear-Danes and Ecgþeow's son
Spoke bravely and well where he would do deeds
Remembered by many in years yet to come.
In those later years, I gather together
A host of a sort wholly unlike his
In prowess and purpose and potency martial,
Though like in in content, common in kind
With what he had wielded.
In Hroðgar's hall, he "unlocked his word-hoard,"
That valiant hero,
To sway with his speech he who sat on the throne.
I unlock my nerd-hoard of books in their bundles,
Plumbing the pages to peer at the truth.