and struck as a harp of the possibilities
therein, He hovered, and heard Himself
draw forth strings from his long fingertips.
Lo! at their ends became musicians.
The strings he stretched crisscrossing end to end
of the silent valley, and sat back pleased,
intent on the symphony that sounded, after
just a little practice, upon his word.
They sang, and from the silver threads
dripped Arda, wrung red, a matchstick flame,
an awesome baby.
God heard wailing and turned
to where he had long had the corner of an
all-seeing Eye; his star performer
gone awry, his marching tune
banging up. Right bopping anti-madrigal.
God smiled at the vain song. Upped the treble. Then,
causing Time, checked it, and said,
Let it be.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.