i've been reading Tolkien again, and this poem came to mind. actually, this picture in my head and i turned it into a poem. these are the lines that inspired it: "mortality is not explained mythically: it is a mystery of God of which no more is known than that 'what God has purposed for Men is hidden': a grief and an envy to the immortal Elves." (The Silmarillion, preface)
She walks silently through the glade,
Her barefeet seemingly to float above the ground.
Her long hair drifts in the soft breeze
While her dress flows about her.
Her hands gently—lovingly—touch the flowers,
Seeming to caress the trees.
She stops at a small white flower
Struggling to raise its bloom.
Her eyes fill with a sadness,
An unspeakable sadness,
Telling of ages long ago.
And suddenly, her young age
Is replaced with a timelessness.
She reaches out a hand,
Whispers a few soft words
And straightens.
She looks up,
And one can see the haunting
In her pale-blue eyes,
A longing for something
She will never reach.
She leans upon the trunk
Of a startlingly beautiful tree.
Tears flow down her cheeks,
Unbidden but unchecked.
She looks about the glade,
And one fancies she sees
More than just flowers and trees.
Softly she whispers,
"Ai, Valimar,
í vanwa ná, Rómello vanwa, Valimar!
Nai elyë hiruva.
Namárië!"
A swift glance, a soft word
Are all the notice one has
Before she slips into the shadows,
Seeming to melt away.
Translation: Ah, Valimar, now lost, lost to those from the East is Valimar. Maybe even thou shalt find it, farewell!
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