Author's note : A poem to Cuivènen, and the waking of the Elves.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, and I'm getting tired of saying it over and over again.

But to cry

By Le Chat Noir

They laid slumberous in fresh grass

Unaware of being risen

From the torpor of yonder paths

At the waters of Cuivènen

Her song had stirred them from the sleep

Of those who weren't born for death

But tears and sighs; they fall and weep

Under the stars of Elbereth

The music reached their ears in night

The song of rivers on the rock

Their eyes opened to meet the light

Of stars; so was born Elven Folk

Their hearts came filled with beauty bright

They rose and pointed to the skies

Stood in wonder of all the sights

Knowing no grief knowing no lies

And knowing not that in the world

There was no one fairer than they

In youth of youth having no Lord

But thirst for truth and starlight ray

But already Cuivènen wept

For all blood that was to be shed

And tears fallen and wars be fought

For wisdom the price to be paid

And Cuivènen forgotten lays

And weeps alone for having seen

The rise of those with deep grey eyes

Of them who once mighty have been

Seen them in their budding glory

Great and fair and newly risen

Heard the silver clear melody

And laughter high not yet fallen

Of those who weren't born to die

But to suffer and but to cry

Under the star-sown shadow sky