The olive tree grows,
on the green pastures.
The rain falls,
like a blanket of love,
protecting olive
of a bad disease.
The sheets of the olive tree,
fall already crimson,
dusk on the prairies,
marks the end of the trees.
Notice: With the Laurelin server shutting down, our website will soon reflect the Meriadoc name. You can still use the usual URL, or visit us at https://meriadocarchives.org/
Windeltreów
Submitted by Dreothorn on October 20th, 2012
