[i]A/N: mae govennin! [/i]I haven’t posted anything here for a very long time. But I do hope you enjoy this simple musing poem of mine. The Elf can be any you wish to think of her as.
She walks silently through the glade,
Her barefeet seemingly to float above the ground.
Her long hair drifts in the soft breeze
While her dress flows about her.
Her hands gently—lovingly—touch the flowers,
Seeming to caress the trees.
She stops at a small white flower
Struggling to raise its bloom.
Her eyes fill with a sadness,
An unspeakable sadness,
Telling of ages long ago.
And suddenly, her young age
Is replaced with a timelessness.
She reaches out a hand,
Whispers a few soft words
She looks up,
And one can see the haunting
In her pale-blue eyes,
A longing for something
She will never reach.
She leans upon the trunk
Of a startlingly beautiful tree.
Tears flow down her cheeks,
Unbidden but unchecked.
She looks about the glade,
And one fancies she sees
More than just flowers and trees.
Softly she whispers,
í vanwa ná, Rómello vanwa, Valimar!
Nai elyë hiruva.
A swift glance, a soft word
Are all the notice one has
Before she slips into the shadows,
Seeming to melt away.
Translation: Ah, Valimar, now lost, lost to those from the East is Valamar! Maybe even thou shalt find it, farewell!