Work Text:
Pelargir (13th March 3019 T.A.)
Black dawn, black sails, black
waves drown the cry of the gulls.
The tide is coming.
The Lady of the Tower
Blue starry mantle -
see constellations moving
with her every breath.
Grey Havens
A forlorn seagull,
wailing high in the mist. We
stay here incomplete.
North Wind
Who would have guessed our
walls could be shaken by a
faint sound of a horn ?
The Sea-call
A cold stony strand,
rolling waves break in whispers,
shards of a Music.
