And so we sang, in unison, for we were instruments.
I raised my voice, and made the music I was made to make;
Soared, raged, cried;
Others heard, and gave me their accord—
Were silenced.

And so, what had we sung?
Crash of iron, breath of air, echo of water—
Call of darkness.
Instruments, we made the music we were made to make,
And we are bound to it.

And so we sang.
Mountains raised, I flattened them;
Smooth green fields, I sharpened them;
Point counterpoint.
And so we sing,
And this is Arda, nor am
I out of it.

Mine.

***

Written for The Silmarillion drabbles at