Portrait of the Artist as a Lone Tree
On last looking upon Tolkienís Arda
Each vision that we glimpse on favourite pages
is small beside the canvas of your soul.
Vast fragments tell the tales of ancient sages,
but greater far remained to make it whole.
Your books we ever read with bated breath;
our hearts were lost before the reader meets
the tale of how the lovers cheated death,
and all the tragic majesty completes
the long forgotten Elder Days we seek,
while climbing on the Misty Mountains high -
to listen to the wizard midst the bleak
and shattered peaks that walk beneath the sky
in Arda, under light that came too late
for Feanor to see he challenged Fate.
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