Poem

Rain amar sila
Amnin, isto le delia.
Ir tira limen miriel
Gelion, isto
Le vi hain.

Edlendio, pathra bass,
Sigil, calar, na garo nin.
Adar enni aunt bara linnas,
Emel enni aunt henten.

Ceven lhoda, le delia,
Henten tinnar, limen silar,
Ceven lhoda, le gwaeda,
Men gwaeda
Aen geveditham.

* Standing alone at the strands of Anduin, evening sky shimmers in purple and pink. With the harp in my arms I sing for Eflwen, mellon nin, bain a pelt, so beautiful and strong*

A fragment of thought, penned in Linnethril's elegant hand. The page bears a small smudge: a trace of mossy green.

I hear her sound,
The gentle rustle of her hair;
The rubbing of her arms together,
Upraised, in praise of Manwe's kiss.
Her scent I adore, green and heady,
Brought forth from the land;
Her toes, burrowed in soil,
Hallowed by Yavanna's touch.

Let's all meet
Up in Waymeet
With walking shoes upon our feet
On the fires we'll bake some pies
And with bellies full, we'll wave goodbye

To the burrows
In Tuckborough
We'll tread a very happy furrow
In Great Smials we'll read some books
Great Legends of the family Took

Let's hop along
To Hobbiton
And stay there 'til the sun is gone
Dipping our toes in the cool stream
By the party tree we'll sit and dream

Lysira grumbled softly as she stared out toward the blazing amber hue that danced across the thin, translucent edge of the horizon, a tattered scrap of paper clasped within her mud-splattered grasp as her dull, vacant stare wanders between the mound of raised earth that marked her mother's grave and the dying light of the sun.

The words enscribed upon the paper left a blotted mark, the blotted ink scrawled across the page in a barely-legible handwriting that seemed entirely out-of-place atop of the dutiously mantained grave.