by Firiel-(T)
May 16, 2011

I gaze about the turning leaves
The grain is bundled into sheaves
I think upon a wind that blew
Another autumn-time ago
When Fíriel in naked woods
Was wandering, no comfort cold
The misting leaves in fiery gold
Yea, even to the splendid gods
Her path did lead; she wandered once
Within a slowly-turning wood