The anvils rang and the hammers rose
To beat out bright blades of dwarvish steel
These were blades for elven kings
For soon the wars would rage
The Mordor hordes were marching
From the blacklands they would come
Bringing death and desolation
To the green and pleasant lands
But the elven hosts were marching
Alongside dwarves and men
And the eagles circled above them
Eyes searching every vale and glen
Bright were the swords of the elven kings
Tightly strung the bows
Heavy the axes and hammers of the mountain dwarves
Long and fierce the spears of men
The horse lords rode there on the flanks
And also in the van
They would be the first to fight
When the orchish hordes came into sight
Orc riders the target for their spears
Wargs the targets for their swords
To buy the times for the elven kings
To form their battle lines

Soft-footed and delicate,
you tip toed your way into
my head last night.
Having scaled warm cheekbones
you pried apart my eyelashes;
teased apart my flickering eye lids.
Stepping under the soft pink canopy,
you found a nook.
Curling up, you pulled closed
wafer thin skin, to keep you safe;
to make sure that
even while dead to this world
you are all I see.