Forgotten tales of high endeavour
Men of old, Elves of forever
Heroes fair of song and rhyme
Abandoned on the march of time.
No Galadhrim, no Dunedain
Just crumbling statues in the rain
With ivy forming haloes green
Around a grace too long unseen.
The dragons dead, the greenwoods gone,
We linger but the world moves on;
The setting of a thousand suns
Cannot dissuade the chosen ones
Who still believe, in some small way,
Within the lives they live today
Lie fragments of their former selves
The dust of Dwarves and Ents and Elves.
It takes but moments, if you care
To hear the music on the air
The faintest echo of a song
The lay of those who don't belong.
Too weak to stand, too strong to die
Too young to breathe the last goodbye
We live on in this world alone
Our destinies no more our own.
Our souls reach out beyond ourselves
To touch and hold our fellow Elves
Still bound by fate to mortal clay -
And so, until the final day
When silver trumpets sound again
To call us home, we will remain
As fireflies in a gilded cage
Imprisoned in the modern age.
Back to Fiction