The Barrowdowns

by Kookle Wrenford

Beyond the Shire and the safety of Tom Bombadil, there are those who break their fast neither with the living nor the dead. They are the Barrow Wights, wraith-like memories of a greater glory who lust after the warmth of what was once life

Disclaimer: I write this strictly in admiration of J.R.R. Tolkien's work. In no way am I making any profit from it, and I do not intend to infringe upon the rights of others.  Please enjoy (and if you would like, please review and tell me what you think of it.)

The Barrow-downs

Mound and mound, earth and dirt.

Dying land, forever cursed.

Land of mist and fog and fear,

Cold that creeps and dispells cheer.

Song of melancholy reign,

Terror filled and shadowed pain.

Golden crowns and rainbow jewels,

Water frozen, still, cold pools.

Light that gleams on hard-edged steel,

Chamber's darkness, final seal.

Locked in twilight, everlast,

Records of the dead, long past.

Once were honoured, once revered,

Now among them walk the feared.

Fire upon the fortress high,

Morning comes, defeat is nigh.

Long deserted, shadowed land.

Cursed by those of shadow's hand.

Those who sleep among the Downs

Will not awake above the ground.