Oh maiden fair
who has great hair
Why do I love thee so?
Perhaps it is your eyes
'tis I they always surprise.
Or maybe it's your feet
When you're dancing they never miss a beat.

"Oh, for the love of Eru!" muttered a rather exasperated Galadriel. "I can't even finish this one it's so bad." She tossed the now crumpled up parchment into the fireplace, secretly relishing the smell of it burning. "I just wish Feanor would stop sending me this ..." she hesitated to give the title of 'poetry' to the abomination of words she'd just witnessed. "I mean, he IS my uncle." A shudder ran down her spine as she thought of this rather unsettling fact. Just then, she heard a knock at the door.

"Singing telegram for Artanis from Feanaro," said the man at the door. Before she could even find a blunt object to hit him over the head with, he began to sing.
"My golden gem, my princess fair; oh would you smile for me? To see your teeth, so pearly white-" A muffled thud was heard and the singing abruptly stopped. With a smug look of satisfaction, Galadriel looked at the messenger, who was now lying unconscious on the ground.
"Oops," she said innocently, hiding a large stone paperweight behind her back.