Being the second leod in the lore-song of Enwë-mindiari.
Unscathed by broken hands,
her soul unbounded fell
when nigh they carried one
who was troven by the knell.
She limped behind the death-march
in pall and shallow breath,
a lone, forsaken heiress –
a cripple for a death.
The wound-cloth she espied,
and an elegy she sang –
a lore-song few have heard
and fewer still will name.
She wept long for the glory
and grieved for bitter heart
that captured tarnished father
and cast them far apart.
His tryst to her he left
in trammeled memory
while hers she gently stowed
on a scintillating sea.
Her rede he curse and bartered
The Water for the fyre.
Alone among the throng
his scornful visage mocked the pyre.
They lauded countless deeds
that their warrior fallen wrought
while Enwë-mindiari
wept in penetrating thought.
Her love was not diminished
for the wrathful father-liege.
A Greater Light Who kindles hope
had conquered hopeless siege.
Soft silver streams of dawn-mere
aflame in auburn glow
ran rivers ‘neath the hood-lee
and purified the snow.
The daughter turned away
and bade the lore-song sleep.
None around her held
the gentle song within their keep,
for heralds mourned aloud
in deepest thralls of trifling grief.
In The Light a thousand gloried;
Mindiar chose unbelief.
The song rang far and long and clear,
embraced in lifeless lands.
Yet he that dwells in Mindiar
is blessed who understands –
the lore-song never died, save
within the deadened ear.
And ending thus the tale,
Enwë softly disappeared.
© 2017 Fynland Arkwood. All rights reserved.
Nice poem!
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