What Will They See?

In the future, what will they see,

When they turn the pages of history?

Will they read about Princess Olga who slew the Bear,

Her feet in fields of golden sunflowers,

Her crown of ivory in azure skies?

Will they see how Olga wept for her dead husband?

Will they know the lengths she will go for her fatherless son?

The armies of the Bear arrived at her gates of stone,

Bearing the the severed head of the Prince of Kyiv.

Olga looked down at them from her throne,

Without a moment for her to grieve,

They told her what the Bear demanded:

"Give to me your hand in marriage."

Princess Olga did not betray her outrage.

A smile and sweet honeyed words were hers.

"Of course, I will agree to this holy marriage.

Tell the Bear, "I will be yours!"

But not before I give his messengers the honor they are due.

Return to your ships and wait until the morn."

Indeed, at sun's first light arrived servants who

On their backs the ships were born,

And carried to the court of Olga of Kyiv.

The hours of the night had been spent,

Digging up a deep pit in which to leave,

The boat and all its unwelcome contents.

The servants buried the ship and men all up,

All while Olga sang and sipped her cup.

"іди нахуй!" she sang.

"I will take no one's hand,

For all of this is my own land,

I would trade it for no amount of gold,

I will fight for it until my body has gone cold!"

"іди нахуй!"

This was not the end of it,

Olga had a message sent back to the Bear,

Who did not know of his men buried in the pit.

"Send to me your noblest men in fashion fair,

To escort your bride-to-be with all due pageantry."

When the forty men arrived, they found a servant waiting,

"My lady sends her regards to you with me,

And asks I show you to the house for bathing.

When that is done, My lady will receive you."

The men stripped down and in the bath they sat,

Steamy water clung to their skin like drops of dew.

So relaxed they were, they didn't ask after the other diplomats.

From without there came a shout and a shuttering of doors,

A crackle of red-hot flames, and thick clouds of smoke.

The nobles tried to escape, but slipped over the damp floors.

And all while they were burning, while they did choke,

Princess Olga stood outside and sang her song,

For it had been revenge she'd planned all along.

"іди нахуй!" she sang.

"I will take no one's hand,

For all of this is my own land,

I would trade it for no amount of gold,

I will fight for it until my body has gone cold!"

"іди нахуй!"

One last thing Princess Olga had in store,

Required her to go to the Bear's mountain lair.

When he saw her armies gathered, he let out a ferocious roar,

Hoping the Princess of Kyiv he would scare.

Olga and her armies did not turn away.

They stayed until the food ran out,

Until the city of the Bear had no choice but to say:

"Olga, please, this city you did rout!

Tell us what your terms of peace will be,

So that this seige can break!"

Olga answered, "Listen, now, this will be my fee:

From each of your homes, an offering you'll make,

Of three pigeons each, and then I'll take my leave."

So it was done, but Olga again was not,

For her husband her heart still did grieve.

To the princess the birds were brought,

She ordered sulphur bound around their legs,

And then released during the dark of night.

The birds went to their roosts and set the city all ablaze!

The citizens ran from their homes in fright,

Among them was the Bear,

Rather than be burned alive he chose to run and hide,

Olga's men hurried to catch him there,

They brought the Bear before his would-be bride,

Who drew her shining sword from her belt,

The Bear's throat its sting surely felt.

"іди нахуй!" she sang.

"I will take no one's hand!"

Princess Olga killed the Bear as she did sing.

"іди нахуй!" she cried.

"For my son, and his future land,

This deed I do today,

So his feet may stand in fields of golden sunflowers,

His Ivory crown in a sky of azure blue."

Now you've read the story of Olga and the Bear,

But in times to come will they know,

The lengths that Olga was to go?

For some parts of this have been written long ago,

Yet some parts are being written even now,

The Bear could rise on up and eat the Princess,

And each and every one of us.

The pen is now in our hand, the scroll is now before us.

What will the words of history be?

How will we choose them?