(This is a song that the dwarves sing in a book/story I’m writing….anyway, it’s dwarven!)

“Back from the mines

We are now coming.

Our day’s toil is done

For the sun is now leaving.

To here and home

Our tread is bearing.

Outside the land might be battling,

But here we keep gay and merry

As we come from the mines.

Yonder the moon is rising

Waving farewell to the sinking sun.

Here at day’s ending,

And night’s beginning,

A figure stood alone on the top of the dwarves' mountain-fortress.  He was watching the sun sink into the west, a globe of fire among cushions of purple.  Around him -- north, south, east -- all was dark.  A crescent moon rose in the dusk of the east, the same sliver that had shone down upon a far away fairy wood -- almost 14 years ago now.  The same boy looked up at it, marveling at its mystery.  He heard the trees rustling in a cold wind far below, whispering secrets to each other.  This was Eltar's favorite place to be, and he often came up on an evening, to rest and think.  Tonight he w

Dark the shadows flee
Amid the empty valley
Grass shriveled, dead, dreary
Rocks ring hollow memories

Deep voices lost in stone
Silenced, the children’s moans
Durin’s kin dispersed alone
Lost, the hammer’s low tones

Came thither the dragon red
Flame, smoke, ruin, dread
Followed the wind, his breath
Hovered under his malicious head

Ruin he brought there
The Lonely Mountain bare
Smaug upon his bed rare
Gold, rubies, emeralds, fair

The wind over the mountain whistling
The dwarves sit in their halls of stone
Their hearts are colder than the mountain peaks
Colder, colder, to the bone.
“Our fingers long for work of ours!”
Their voices cry with the wind.
“Give us back what belongs to us!”
Their grief beyond any other’s ken.
No care for trees, nor care for sky
No care for other moving things

Just let them have the work of their hands

The crowns and jewelry fit for kings.

Their love is silver, bright, bright stones