There is an elf-maid that appears as a lady of old,
she wanders the Greenleaves, she has a clarity as cold
As a winter morning, and eyes of rich grassy earth
merry as a child, terrible as a queen yet she was full of mirth.
She was given the name Kemenfindel,
and was known for being in height little.
Solemn and quiet at times, yet as elf-kin
She lives, with dark hair as the day's end.
She wears a gown of flowing green silk
And her skin as pale as pearly milk
she walks on the grass as a hobbit steps,
Dark as the night and of the twilit world yet
as beautiful as a princess and bright as the sun.
she is a midnight maiden, a contrdiction as ever there was one.
Light on her feet, quiet as a doe
She comes and then goes
And sings with the birds flying and plays with the wolves feral
A High Elven lady from the land across worlds bright as beryls.
The story goes on and on and we will start at the birth
And to the riverside bay: of the children she was the first
She was raised by waterlily and fishes swimming and went to the kingdom as time permitted.
She grew up as a snowdrop flower, her head forever in bowing to the king in his underground tower
The Elven-king ruled in his burrow and she thought of a day to-morrow
When she would be of his forces, no longer by the silver river courses.
The day came and she brought forth a bow, she shot not too high nor too low
Yet just right it sang, and she brought to the kingdom an orkish fang
As proof of a hunt well done, yet she was small and quick, and quite young
And brought into war she delved, and at only the yen of twelve.
To us, that is many mortal years, but her family had many fears.
The Elven-king did not listen, only sat in his throneroom where all his gold glistened
And sent her out with the army he made, and slowly her memory of home fades.
The last time she went to war, it was far from the age Fourth
She waited in a narrow alley and leapt to bring the folks to rally
As an elvish-general she took her group, and around the city they made a loop
They took the orkish city of BlackFang and she came back, glory to her name.
The youngest of elven-warriors she was made a bowwoman of death-couriers,
They say she sent death on her arrow, as a message is given to a sparrow.
Now she is of noble rank and calling, yet she lives as if she was still a Silvan falling
And soon more of this tale is to be told, as it is as of a linnod of old.
HOPE YOU ENJOYED! 4/1/2020 BY GH: THE LAY OF KEMENFINDEL
This is quite possibly the last poem/story I will post here on KidzTalk.
If you have a LotR character, feel free and write a poem about them,
and I will get them into any edits for this one that I may post later.
