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MOON LETTERS : POETRY
Simbelmynë: For Theodred (A Song of Éowyn) - By Julie Daniel


Alas! for death so young,
your cold brow yet unlined when last I kissed it,
your hair still gold as honey from the hive.
You, who would be king,
fell too soon,
too soon to see restored
the great majesty of your father,
and the glory of your people.
You, who would be king,
now feed the earth.
Atop green mounds
white teardrops well up,
and fall,
but do not wash away my sorrow.
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