Stag 3

      

Wander-Song

Through all the paths of Ieswind, and through the Deeping Wood,

Wanderer who wanders, ‘tis Green thy cloak and hood!

Your Song is light, as wind in the leaves,

As Sweet as the sound of the stream,

Your voice was Fair as Spring-passing Eve,

As the night where the fire-flies gleam!

Come sing here tonight, while the fire is bright,

Of the Tales of the Hare and the Goat,

The Dawn may bring what our sorrows may Sing,

But tonight we shall feast and shall gloat!

Through all the coast of Ladh-Lüin, and up the Cliffs of Weven-Land,

Wanderer who Wanders, Thy Fiddle still in your hand!

Your bow is swift, and dances on

The strings like Maiden Fair!

Your Tune is light, while we are

Sad and worried down with care!

Come sing here tonight, while the fire is bright,

Of the Tales of the Hare and the Goat,

The Dawn may bring what our sorrows may Sing,

But tonight we shall feast and shall gloat!

Through all the plains of Kyndillic, where Valkyries ride their steeds,

Still Merry-Joe thy tunes still are, still sweet thy pipes of reed!

The night is dark and soon we ride to rout the foes so fell!

But be tonight our final ride, we sing and bid thee well!

Come sing here tonight, while the fire is bright,

Of the Tales of the Hare and the Goat,

The Dawn may bring what our sorrows may Sing,

But tonight we shall feast and shall gloat!

Brainstorming at 9:38 PM

Come, let us look from the mountain top and stare below us,

O look at the world!

Oh see how it passes!

Oh, see how it fades away and is forgotten!

Seahorse Steeds

The Knights are charging,

Silver Armor and Azure on the Shields,

Charging up, up, up the Sand, on Blue Seahorses,

Who gallop on the White, foamy tails of Waves,

In the high tide.

Do not stop, do not wait to rest,

Stop not for the Green Dragon kelp-weeds,

Stop not for the scarlet-backed crablings,

Stop only to hear the thunder and beauty of water,

And let your steed feel the golden sand under hoof and tail.

For your life is short,

And with the tide you return,

And then I will forget you.

Leaves in the Stream

The grass that was green is forgotten,

The earth yields no bounty nor fruit,

No more grow the cornfields a-golden,

Gone is the Farmer and his Flute.

Gone are the Men of our people,

Dead are our Kings who stood proud,

The gold-bells ring no more in the steeples,

What is left are ashes, and the mourning shroud!

The wolf that was dead is awakened,

The wall of the city are ruins,

The might of our towers is shaken,

The owls haunt the night with their tune.

Here now, it the fire and warrior,

A new race of Red-Blood and Blade,

Our people are older and wearier,

We see our people fade!

Alas, all is not, all but leaves in the stream,

Down we go and we sail away!

Away we go and dream our dreams,

Until the King may bring the Day.

May it be,

Amen.

A Rather Interesting Quote

"The greatest problem with Humanity is not that we are unable to make, or think, or invent; it is that Men do not have the perception to use what they make and think and invent wisely."

Anonymous