Once, when Tree-light reigned in bright Valinor,
I had seven sons, borne to Fëanor.
I had warrior sons, and soldiers, too;
And a singer son, with 'a song for you.'
Once, our home was filled with laughing boys,
Once, the floors were strewn with books and toys.
Now the rooms are hushed in the grey twilight,
Dust must coat the floors, in soft lantern light.
For my sons were lost on their father's quest,
Spreading fire and death, and blood without rest.
But all this has passed; distant Valinor
Sees only sunlight on the Hither Shore.
As the night falls down, and I am alone,
I can sing no more than a silent stone.
But there will come a day when I sing 'til
Golden morning falls on the farthest hill.
When they all come home, and I know they will,
Then shall morning fall on the farthest hill.
And there came a day, when I sang until
All the morning fell on the farthest hill.
A/N: Hi all! Two poems in a day. Celt's on a roll! Anyway, this one is Christmas present for Fortune Zyne, my most faithful and awesome reviewer. May your beard grow ever longer. Err... wait...that's what you say to dwarves - too much Hobbit. ;) Hope you like this.
~RandomCelt, who, though she stayed up past 2 am writing tributes to it, still does not own the Quenta Silmarillion. She is quite despondent about this. Please comfort her with reviews...