A recollection of thoughts about Curufin. Part 5
Disclamour: Belongs to Tolkien
Little father you were.
In craft and face,
You resembled most like your father.
Crafting the pictures of your mind.
You spent your time in the forge,
Wanting to be like your father,
Wanting to please him,
To be at his level of skill.
You stayed close with Tyelkormo,
Keeping his anger calm.
Yet innocent you were not,
Of the slaying of kin and stealing of Luthien.
Only of the brother,
Did you have a son.
He grew into the forge,
He was never inflamed by evil.
You were bound to the jewels,
Wishing most for their return.
Those jewels were your life,
Now it was your death, in the sack of Doriath.
