1. A Morning of Pale Spring
You stand in the eastern window
still bearing winter's doleful frost;
the steely blanket of your hair
speaks to me of distance
and fruitless kneeling.
I could climb an endless stair
up to your threshold, my clothes
snagging on random stars,
my knees grazing unmoved planets,
and still you would elude me
like a joybeam shimmering
in a frantic streamlet
that a childish hand
would chill in pursuit.
So I wait, clenched in watching
for the first peeping blossoms, wondering
if perhaps they have spread
their maiden lace already
only to be betrayed
by a rude and choking freeze.
But now we stand together
two orphans at discovery's door,
the bonfire of our sorrows
smoldering in a forgotten ditch.
Your fingers twine about my own
like trusting vines that seek
the hidden remedies of growth;
their softness weaves a clean dream
a lifting and a holiday
and promises of waterfall joy
as the earth rumbles faintly
in the lap of singing morning,
hungering for the healthful seeds
of lovers who well know
the warm importance of thaw.
still bearing winter's doleful frost;
the steely blanket of your hair
speaks to me of distance
and fruitless kneeling.
I could climb an endless stair
up to your threshold, my clothes
snagging on random stars,
my knees grazing unmoved planets,
and still you would elude me
like a joybeam shimmering
in a frantic streamlet
that a childish hand
would chill in pursuit.
So I wait, clenched in watching
for the first peeping blossoms, wondering
if perhaps they have spread
their maiden lace already
only to be betrayed
by a rude and choking freeze.
But now we stand together
two orphans at discovery's door,
the bonfire of our sorrows
smoldering in a forgotten ditch.
Your fingers twine about my own
like trusting vines that seek
the hidden remedies of growth;
their softness weaves a clean dream
a lifting and a holiday
and promises of waterfall joy
as the earth rumbles faintly
in the lap of singing morning,
hungering for the healthful seeds
of lovers who well know
the warm importance of thaw.
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.
