She
She waits in the midst of strangers. She calms her shaking hands.
She holds her head and sighs.
The people chatting softly, they overwhelm her senses.
They are gath'ring at the off-world realm, where silence rules and earth's may
quake but oh! Soft, how her hands do shake.
The mist doth slowly lift and now the birds doth slowly cry.
And everywhere the shadows touch, becomes the shreik and shry.
But see, the e'er-forboding gleam of gloom the shriers say,
Shall not be lost on common sense, nor lofted on the way.
Come home, loft birds on heightened air, come home, tho' far may fare!
For none shall seem the poorest but those caught by love's lost care.
She waits in the midst of strangers. She calms her shaking hands.
She holds her head and sighs.
Come soft to the house most wretched. Run light to the gleam most feared.
Be ye not afeared of death or might, for the Glen will see you there!
Oh! ye dwellers of Sweet Lothlorien! Peace be with you e'er.
email: Giselle | Castle Libram |
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