Structured poetry always takes a little more work, but the rhythm of it especially when the sea is any part of the subject matter seems to call for it. This is one more for Mithlond, for patient Cirdan and the ships he set upon their way.

The Way Home

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There were ships going forth from the Havens,
Fleet of sail, sea-swift and strong.
Bright Bay of the Blessed, faces turned to the West,
Drawing hearts to where they belonged.
Aged hands remained young in shaping
The wood and the cloth for the way,
For the vessels they give help others to live,
Eyes lifting to brighter days.

There were ships going forth from the Havens,
Filled with those weighted down and bent,
Each bow in the waves a release of the stays,
Each sea-wind a breath heaven-sent.
They came to the Havens in sorrow,
War-wearied by darkness they'd known,
Yet bright were their brows as the foam 'neath the prows
Turned at last toward their home.

There were ships going forth from the Havens,
'Til at last remained but one,
Patiently waiting for Ages' abating,
For the day when Battle's won.
How sweet was that singing arrival,
That day filled with music did dawn,
And the weeping of tears for balming of fears
Was heard one last time in that song.

There's a ship going forth from the Havens,
And upon her that one light shone,
Soon lost in the sun, final journey begun,
And the last watched it sail,
Alone.

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