The Great Hall of Poets – June 2016

Seed of Nimloth

By Melissa A.

High on Mount Mindolluin,
Hid in ancient hallow barren,
In a waste of stone and snow,
There a single sapling grows,
Crowned with buds of purest white,
‘Neath dark leaves a silver light,
Last fruit of the withered tree
That was born across the sea.

Single fruit of Nimloth saved
From the dreaded tidal wave
That buried once blest Númenor,
Shoot from that which Isildur
Did once plant on Minas Anor,
This tree grows untended for,
Unguarded, unadmired,
Save by lonely stones and briars.
It too is threatened by a storm,
But by sword of Aragorn
From destruction is it spared.

Now comes Isildur’s bright heir.
Elendil’s shoot from Northern waste
Up the sacred path makes haste,
He, the child of elves and men,
Of Elros, Beren, Lúthien,
Elfstone, Elessar the King,
He whose hands do healing bring.

To these hands at last do cede
Roots of ancient Nimloth’s seed.
Long may White Tree bud and flower
In the City of the Tower!

Neglectful, Gondor, never be
Lest Nimloth fade eternally!

~~ * ~~

“Lament of the Last” (Smaug)

By: April M. Richards

Deep in gold I burrow,
Heart empty, memories of
My kind floating away
Like the smoke that rises
From my scarred snout.

Ballads of Men and Elves write
Me as Evil, lost to an Ancient Evil.
Yet my thoughts recall a time
Long before the Elves danced
Upon the land and the Dwarves
Delved deep in search of rare
Metals and brilliant gems,
Dragons prepared the new world,
Swallowing fire from the earth and
Taming primordial waters into
Seas, rivers and lakes, safe for all.

Yes, I took the Dwarves’ Lonely Mountain,
Driving out their kin and killing some.
But I did not do it for greed for their gold.
Four hundred years ago, Dwarves
From Erebor slaughtered my loving parents
Before my hatchling eyes and violated their
Bodies for their hide. Their bodies rotted, drawing
Scavengers and forcing me to flee. A dropped
Coin my only clue to their identity.

For centuries, I hunted for their names,
For decades I hid among the cities of Men
In my human form until I learned of reports
Of the Arkenstone and of Erebor. I launched
My attack, not wishing to kill any in Dale, but
War takes all. I drove out the Dwarves and
Settled in the Treasure Room, the only room
I fit in as a full sized Dragon.

Now, I sit under the gold, hearing light
Footsteps sliding down into this room
And smelling a being connected
To the Earth, to Nature and to Peace.
A fleeting wish to meet this being in
Better times crosses my mind.

Outside the secret door, I hear Dwarven
Whispers of Revenge and the lust for
Their gold and the blasted Arkenstone.

I know I will die by the end of
This day. Dragons will be gone
From Middle Earth and I wish
Dragons would be forgotten than be
Used Villains to justify violence against
Other beings.

A brief glimpse of the small being,
a Hobbit He calls himself,
shot a Vision through me.
The Encroaching Darkness will be laid low By Four Hobbits,
but one connected to this Hobbit will suffer the most.
May he find Peace in the West.

~~ * ~~