Nienor

In a pitch-black flood is an icy stream,
But hands of yours are colder.
Your eyes are jewels icy-green,
And I do not dare to close 'em.

How long I was waiting, I cannot say,
And years have passed me by.
But all of a sudden I lost you again,
What for have I survived?

Of evening dusk I will weave the silk
And pearls for your shroud of tears.
O sister, forgive me I didn't feel
The kindred, when you were so near.

And whether I lament or sing a song,
Now you won't hear it.
I'll make you a funeral robe of fog,
Lay flowers to your feet.

Sister, I cannot warm up your hands.
As if carved of marble stone.
You lie under shadowy wings of death,
Who is thirsty to our moans.

As in your song, of lilies and stars
I'll weave for you a wreath.
I'm short of tears to ease my heart,
Ages will not efface my grief.

The hardest is knowing we won't meet again
Beyond the verge of the worlds.
The fate has designed for me none but the pain -
And our ways will not cross

Because of the Foe's spite-oozing words
And will of the cruel Gods.

***
A river pitch-black is an icy stream,
But Niniel's hands are colder.
Her eyes are like frozen dying green.
Nobody will dare to close' em .