Scratch

Odin squatted on the branch, looking into the lands of the Yahuds. He could vaguely see Papa’s land where it blurred with the huge buildings that Papa liked. Odin heard a faint cawing, the call of his raven, Hugin. Hugin landed on Odin shoulder and cawed softly. “Yaishi is preparing to go to war with the Papa. Prepare for a war.” Hugin hissed.
“Is that so?” Odin asked. “Now where is Munin?”
“Munin, my sister, is spying on Papa. She will report to you later. May I sleep?”
“Go ahead.” Odin permitted. As he waited in Yggdrasil,  the tree of life, Odin recited a poem he composed about the two ravens.
“Hugin and Munin fly each day
Over the spacious earth.
I fear for Hugin, that he come not back,
Yet more anxious am I for Munin.”
“Why is that?” A voice asked.
“Because Munin is the weaker one, Loki. You of all people should know that.” Odin said.
Loki chuckled, “Of course. After all, I was the one who raised them from birth. Brother, I remember your happiness when you got the ravens. That memory is only surpassed by you hanging yourself from this very tree. I still wonder why you did that.”
“Loki,” Odin sighed, “Poetry was worth every second of the nine days of hanging.”
“Maybe so, but was it worth an eye?” Loki countered.
“Definitely,” Odin said firmly.  “It was worth it for the wisdom.”