By Khazad-dûm, the black pit rank,
Hewed dwarf and orc in vengeful rage.
To gaping gate the shortbeard sprang,
Spirit raising, eyes a-blazing,
Axe-stroke hewing, orc-king falling.
Yet sudden stopped he at gateway’s edge,
Flames espying, shadows crawling.
‘Not now,’ Dáin said, and back he stepped.
By Ravenhill, green-mound rising,
Stood dwarf and elf, grim-grudgeful waiting.
With ringing voice the fullbeard spake,
Of hoard-gold glowing, glory growing,
Mattocks raising with new-king’s raving.
Yet doubt remained in dwarf-lord’s mind of⏝
king's-wrath heedless, violence staving.
‘Not now,’ Dáin said, and held his step.
By Erebor, grey mountain bare,
Pressed man on dwarf in desperate strife.
In fortress mouth the whitebeard stood,
Red-axe swinging, war-cry ringing,
Forward pressed the foe to breach the door,
Sword-blow slaying, man-king dying.
No time to mourn, stood he forlorn,
‘Not now,’ said Dáin, and forward he stepped.
- With thanks to the Other Minds and Hands creatives group, for their encouragement and advice in helping me develop my nascent poetry.
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