Author's note : A poem to Cuivènen, and the waking of the Elves.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, and I'm getting tired of saying it over and over again.
But to cry
By Le Chat Noir
They laid slumberous in fresh grass
Unaware of being risen
From the torpor of yonder paths
At the waters of Cuivènen
Her song had stirred them from the sleep
Of those who weren't born for death
But tears and sighs; they fall and weep
Under the stars of Elbereth
The music reached their ears in night
The song of rivers on the rock
Their eyes opened to meet the light
Of stars; so was born Elven Folk
Their hearts came filled with beauty bright
They rose and pointed to the skies
Stood in wonder of all the sights
Knowing no grief knowing no lies
And knowing not that in the world
There was no one fairer than they
In youth of youth having no Lord
But thirst for truth and starlight ray
But already Cuivènen wept
For all blood that was to be shed
And tears fallen and wars be fought
For wisdom the price to be paid
And Cuivènen forgotten lays
And weeps alone for having seen
The rise of those with deep grey eyes
Of them who once mighty have been
Seen them in their budding glory
Great and fair and newly risen
Heard the silver clear melody
And laughter high not yet fallen
Of those who weren't born to die
But to suffer and but to cry
Under the star-sown shadow sky