A very short poem as an homage to the king of all Elves, about whom far too little is known.
A king there was ere dawn of days,
ere words were made or sung were lays,
ere tears were shed or gems were wrought
the starlight in his eyes was caught.
No crown he bore on noblest head,
no jewel on his brow was thread:
the first to wake and see the lands
about Cuiviénen’s misty strands.