Sea-longing

Come, come to the rushing sea,

Travel the whale's riding,

To Elvenhome return with me,

Calls the sea-gull singing.

Can I so lightly leave songs of the falls?

Where merry the laughter of fair Elven voices,

singing  in  fire-halls?

Can I  yet leave while tree-herders roam?

And Dwarf-halls still ring while the beat of the forge,

Echos in trembling stones?

Come come, says the ship on the strand,

Why tarry ye yet in darkening lands?

Our pleasant stay here in Rivendell draws slowly to a close, in a few days' time we shall be on the road again divested of most enjoyable safety the Vale provides to all who come without ill intent. I think I have grown much accustomed to this fact in past weeks, perhaps too much to my liking. I have also noticed many of us becoming softer, irresistible to all that pampering Imladris offers. On the other hand it is definitely a well-earned rest everyone deserved after all we had been through past seasons.