Lament for Lothlórien
It is mid-autumn now, and all is silent. I look up into the mallorn canopy. Russets, oranges, and browns of every colour abound. A small leaf flutters slowly down, and comes to rest at my feet. I sigh; this wood is full of sadness. I cross the icy Celebrant, a small stream now, blocked by falling branches and long decaying leaves.
I enter the elven-realm of old; no more do the sweet voices sing. The great laments are forgotten, songs of past loves no longer are sung. The elves now are gone, their realm decays.
The old ones are forgotten, Nimrodel, Tinúviel, Galadriel, all are lost, obscured by the thick mists of time. The trees do not forget them, their sadness tears their boughs, the great mallorn trees are falling.
Oh, how I lament. The elven people, children of the Earth, they are gone, the world is desolate.
It is mid-autumn now, and all is silent. I look up into the mallorn canopy. Russets, oranges, and browns of every colour abound. A small leaf flutters slowly down, and comes to rest at my feet. I sigh; this wood is full of sadness. I cross the icy Celebrant, a small stream now, blocked by falling branches and long decaying leaves.
I enter the elven-realm of old; no more do the sweet voices sing. The great laments are forgotten, songs of past loves no longer are sung. The elves now are gone, their realm decays.
The old ones are forgotten, Nimrodel, Tinúviel, Galadriel, all are lost, obscured by the thick mists of time. The trees do not forget them, their sadness tears their boughs, the great mallorn trees are falling.
Oh, how I lament. The elven people, children of the Earth, they are gone, the world is desolate.