White flowers grow into each others shadows,
in the fading twilight of the valley of Rivendell.
It was if they had strayed into a dream to shine,
by the Malhorn leaves falling silver, then golden
by the misty waterfalls flowing slowly emerald,
towards all the rivers called upon by the oceans.
Aragorn, how you will cherish her fading light,
for by her love, the dawn has graced your life.
But as you die a hero and are so remembered,
she will remain, and in grief she will linger on
and she will fade, without your love as comfort
and without a hope or star to guide her way,
until all the long years of her are utterly spent.
She will go to the ancient wood of Lothlorien,
where you entered her life, that was a dream.
She will die alone, upon a small green mound,
where the breath of spring has not yet come.
So the Evenstar will fade from Middle Earth.
But before that day where your lives will end,
and you will forever be parted from each other
and all the ages of the world will be no longer
and the story and the light and time shall cease,
you will know of beauty and the sorrow of love,
with faith undying you will embrace this ardor.
