One more poem, then I think I’m at the end of my Tolkien tribute writings (was that a sigh of relief I heard?)
Deep brown the river runs, under willows sweeping,
Bears the leaves and twiglets down, drowning out the weeping.
Silent lies the river-path, no-one now is walking
All along the forest ways, lily-flowers seeking.
Drowsing in the cooling air, ancient willows humming
Songs of vanished summer days, songs of winter coming.
Softly in the rustling reeds the autumn breeze is moaning;
Deep beneath the water brown, River-woman groaning,
Sorrows for her daughter fair, stolen from the river
Longs for gentle Spring’s return, longs to see her treasure
Dance again beside the stream, bathing in the water,
Then as in a golden dream she will behold her daughter.
Now as winter settles cold, river woman’s weeping
Fills the lonely valley air, while all things else are sleeping.