Lament for the King.
King Thranduil, the Last Elven King.
He was finally leaving for the West,
The sun was rising during the early spring,
He knew his decision was best.
The breeze that rustled the leaves around him,
Whispered the cries of sorrow.
The clouds covered the sun and the light was dim,
The forest was mourning for the coming morrow.
As he passed through the forest it seemed like the trees died,
The stones on the path spoke of the days the elves had spent there.
The flowers bowed there heads and the birds cried,
No creature would forget the presences of the elves during the days fair.
King Thranduil, Last Elven King.
Eryn Lasgalen, no longer is there spring.
This is something I did for a poetry contest, but please leave a review if you liked it! Nethwen