Alone in her mighty halls beyond the West.
Tall windows primed with silver glass look outward from the world’s ongoing quest.
Lit by a single black coal is her home.
The souls of Men are sent on your black ship, Mornie, wherever it may roam.
Into your brother’s Halls of Waiting you wander countless days,
Giving counsel to the many with troubled ways.
Lamentation is the song she has woven into the premise of this world.
It brought strength and spirit as it delightfully unfurled.
Your innocent reflection is mirrored by the tranquil pool of sorrow you have wept.
The painful tears of others you turn to keen wisdom they have dearly kept.
Never overwhelmed by sadness, only turning it into comfort and hope.
If only you could see the pity she has for you when she casts back her gray cloak.
Of you Olórin owes much of his intelligence.
As he was sent to Middle-earth and is renowned for his brilliance.
The suffering of those you cry for in sorrow,
know of your power and restored happiness you bestow.
Her glimmering tears like moonlit starts trickle down her porcelain face,
beneath the midnight sky you walk in gardens full of grace.
Alas! By your gentle tears, Nienna, look how the trees blossom anew.
Bringing forth the dawn of Men, this much is true.

a poem by GreenEyedElf

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