glimmer

The very stones lament the missing elves
in dialects of quartz, and amethyst.
Fair artisans, who'd buff, and etch, and delve
long ages since sought refuge in the West.
Galadriel alone still haunts this shore
one mighty Noldo fighting the good fight
the distaff heir of shining Feanor
to nurture one last glint of primal Light.
No ancient hero holds the Hobbit's hand
It's improvise or die on the big stage.
The Wise can't guide, the doughty can't command.
Adulthood's a rude shock in any age.
No stone denies the LittleFolk's great worth;
rare gems among the folks of MiddleEarth.