Under golden trees in a far off land
A beautiful maiden never ages,
With a ring on a finger on a lily white hand,
Her life could not be told on one hundred pages.

The maiden, none other than the elf-witch herself,
Not far from the stair of Amon Hen,
Galadriel they called her, a mysterious elf
Who dwelt amongst the trees of Lothlorien.

Stunned, are all those who come upon her face,
They are looked upon with a curious stare,
The most beautiful of all of the elven race,
None have ever seen another so fair.

Galadriel watches from her mirror of light,
The things that go on everyday,
The loving, the hating, the lust for a fight,
The need to have your own way.

A group of eight strangers come to her dwelling,
They are tired and heart sick and covered with dirt,
The small ones, the hobbits, are most compelling,
She leads them to sleep off their hurt.

Frodo, a hobbit, asks for her aid,
She shows him her mirror of light,v What he sees horrifies him, this is no façade
There is going to be a big fight.

He offers her the ring to take to protect,
But the lady Galadriel would not,
And never in a life time would Frodo forget
What Galadriel said on the spot.

‘To bear a ring of power is to be alone youngling’
she kneeled and looked into his eyes,
‘but for you my dear Frodo, there will always be something’
and to Frodo this was quite a surprise.

Before they left, gifts were received,
A useful thing or two,
Gimli wanted nothing but a lock of her hair (it was agreed)
She cut off some strands and gave him a few.

Lady Galadriel waved as they departed,
Her heart thumping rapidly in her chest,
For she knew the real journey had only just started,
And she knew that is was for the best.

Birds and beasts respect the lady of the wood,
Even if her wrath on any evil be scary,
They would never leave, even if they could,
So strangers in those parts be wary.

Wander not, silent strangers amongst the golden trees,
In the fair land of Lothlorien,
For elves are as quick and silent as a breeze,
And you will never be seen again.