In Western woods, beneath the stars,
The trees may bud in Spring;
The water falls,
And Elf-maids fair with merry finches sing.
In fastness deep, beneath the ground
A King may rule wide lands,
From spacious many pillored hall
Not shaped by any hands.
And in that hall the minstels sing
Though all outside be grey;
For there is still and Elven light
And songs both wise and gay.
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The dead marhes through the eyes of a child who witnessed it. Though it may be your initial reponse, please keep in mind that it is not based off any real characture from Lord of the Rings. I made this one all up. Please comment.
Some people asked me to expand this poem. I didn’t want it to sound too forced, but I finally did it.
A farewell to a gentle friend.
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