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Avon's Drabbles  by Avon

I hear the stones lament them:

deep they delved us; fair they wrought us; high they builded us; but they are gone.

My eyes see the holly-trees' thickly-clustered berries but my mind sees a tall city, streets thronged with hosts of fair Elven-folk.  As I watch, I see it fall in flames and war and hear the clash of steel and a hundred voices crying out in loss,

They are gone.

In the cold, thin winter sun, I shiver in pity and dread.  Soon may travellers in all Middle-earth hear only this lament of trees and stones.

They are gone…

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