Ithilien, Maine
The mills are quiet,
rain-washed monuments;
the river flows clean over the falls,
flowers conquer its banks;
young girls squeal in the foaming pools.
But there are orcish scrawls on the rocks,
and shopping carts rusting in the stream;
on the shore a tree stands dead,
stripped of its bark for nothing.
The men of the land
have not forgotten the blackened hand;






2 hours 12 min ago
2 hours 15 min ago
2 hours 22 min ago
2 hours 27 min ago
2 hours 29 min ago
2 hours 32 min ago
2 hours 35 min ago
2 hours 38 min ago
2 hours 38 min ago
2 hours 40 min ago