My LadyGoldberry

- jan-u-wine

She is fair.

Perhaps those words are
all
I should write,

all
I need write.

Just those few words,
like a necklace of silver
sea-pearls
strung against the perfect
white of the page.

And it is not
just

that she is fair.

That were enough,
if that were all....

but

she is the river,

rushing with crystal snow-dropped feet
to the Sea,

whispering quiet in hidden pools of amber light....
swaying the gilt-green lilies with sweet laughter.....

resting silent and still beneath a summer-hazed sky.

She is.....

she

is
I-know-not-what
and yet...

I know well what she might be,
all Elven-tressed

yet merry as a lass in Spring.....

eyes a-drift with star-shine,
hair armour'd by the Sun,

breath like tea-sweet roses.

Somehow,
in the song of her voice,

in the dance of her slender feet
bare against the floor.....

in her eye,
greying

as rain gentles and mists
her hair.....

Somehow,

I know who and what she is.

And I love her.

I love her,

as I love the fields in high summer
and the sulk of a harvest sun.

I love her,
as I love the little streams laughing in Spring-green meadows
or
the  lace'd silence of a snow-blind day.

She is fair.

My Lady Goldberry.


_____________________________________________________________

AN:  I have often thought on the sweetness of Frodo's seeming attraction for Goldberry.  It was interesting to me that this hobbit, who reputedly was never attracted to a lass of his own kind, was so very taken by her.   And yet, he seemed not *just* to be smitten with her....  there was something else.  Tolkien himself did not seem certain exactly what Goldberry was (*who* she was, yes, she being 'the river's daughter'), but seemed to lean towards her being sort of an elemental spirit who called forth the seasons. (Letters, page 272: "….we are not in 'fairy-land', but in real river-lands in autumn.  Goldberry represents the actual seasonal changes in such lands.") A mysterious earth-mother, but not clad in traditional 'earth-mother' array.  And what was Frodo all about, if not about the deep, abiding love (and preservation) of all that was, all that is, and all that shall follow?  It seems very natural then, that he should love her, not in a romantic sort of a way, but rather as the embodiment of all that he held most dear.  This, after all, is the person who took up the Quest, a journey of the heart as much as the body, for the sake of things as *small* as the whisper of the Thistle Brook in spring......