What even the morning dew does not betray,
are those who passed through in bygone day.
With feet unclothe they walked forth unseen,
in their step leaving blade of grass like it had been.
Of their passing the eldest trees might not talk,
yet ever fond of the time when elves did walk.
With song of mirth and voices pure they went,
From East to West before the world was bent.
On the way there were only stars to light the sky,
As moon and sun weren't there yet to deftly fly.
And those who strayed ere they reached the West,
Shall be welcomed when they wish to forever rest.
