The Arrow Flies – An archer’s lament of her last days in Middle Earth

by Mar 1, 2005Poetry

Fingers on my weathered bow
Holding on, never letting go
From my quiver an arrow is drawn
Just before the break of dawn

The glorious sun rises high
We are the last of the Elven kind
At my post I protect the King
While below, the others dance and sing

The arrow fitted in my bow
Pull back the string and let it go
The arrow soars across the dawn
The Elves sing their final song

For tomorrow Elves will mourn
They’ll sail away to Valinor
Never to return again
I, a warrior, am one of them

I say farewell to Middle Earth
I envy Men in my heart
For they are doomed to die
While the memory of them stays alive

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Found in Home 5 Reading Room 5 Poetry 5 The Arrow Flies – An archer’s lament of her last days in Middle Earth

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