The Speckled Land

In Lórien the light
Falls through the leaves
Like speckled gold.
But this is no land for trees
And smoke hides the stars.

Who sent us to die here?
The wisdom of Elves
Or the folly of Men?
A dusty prophecy
Or a living hope?

The harpists will say
We took our place with pride
In the fortress of Men.
But who will hear their song
In empty Rivendell?

Grappled with our enemies
We lie beneath stone
Far from the woods, and the stars,
And the sea.

Morning is breaking
In green and gold
On Lórien, the Speckled Land.
But we will not see it
Only the grey dream that lies
Beyond death.

What funeral rites for those
Who should not die?

- Varda