(This poem is inspired by pp. 42-44 of Chapter One of the Silmarillion)
At the green mound of Ezellohar
the Valar listen
and the thrones of Máhanaxar
are quiet
The birth of Time
still prescient
hovers,
an unending moment
of promise
Yavanna bends low,
her long hair caressing the earth,
her song rippling across the virgin soil,
evoking memories
that are yet to be born,
that are fecund within the loam;
and lie fallow yet
Now Nienna's tears
fall upon the blessed mould
and call forth
with loving murmur
from between the folds of night
the precious sorrows of our future
The Firstborn are yet to know
are yet to understand
the leaving,
the falling,
the wind-blown scattering,
the richness of decay;
are yet to know
that birth brings death,
that though the body lives
the heart can grieve forever
See now
the chanting breaches Time
and sets It in the minds
of those who wander:
the saplings start
by bud
and branch
to coil
and weave
a gold and silver thread
into the far-off reaches of tomorrow
The Two Trees
sing,
Yavanna chants,
Nienna weeps,
the Valar wonder
and Time begins;
the Opening Hour
is now assuaged
And yet,
so far away
in misted time,
beyond the worlds remembered,
Telperion, Laurelin,
we miss you...
the silver leaf and golden blossom, gone;
we look for you upon the Mallorn,
upon the fertile plains,
within the starlit heavens,
your jewels, so ardently desired,
gone...
and yet our hearts are filled with
something we remember,
no tanglible forever now,
we find the day and night intrinsic of the Soul;
the seasons pass,
we follow you;
the Silver Lode,
the Golden River,
Death and Life,
the unforsaken journey Home
