SWANS OF MITHLOND
In the moonlit silver grace,
Where sea and starlight softly trace,
In Mithlond’s ancient, hallowed shore,
The swans in flight, they roam once more.
Their wings, a shimmer of the night,
A fleeting dream in pale moonlight,
The sea-breeze whispers soft and free,
As elven songs from centuries.
A song they sing with tender flow,
Of tides that rise and winds that blow,
The swans, in beauty, glide and turn,
Through waters where the stars do burn.
With feathers white as snow’s embrace,
They glide with elegance and grace,
And in their eyes, the ageless skies,
Reflect the dawn where silence lies.
Oh, swans of Mithlond, flying high,
Beneath the ancient elven sky,
May your wings forever soar,
Above the lands of sea and lore.
