In the vale of Misty Hollow, where the river whispers low,
Lived a hobbit named Cylo, with a heart like verdant glow.
By the banks of silver waters, where the willow’s branches weep,
He would wander through the shadows, where the ancient shadows creep.
Underneath the boughs of yonder, where the light scarcely fell,
A darkness stirred within him, with a voice like moonlit bell.
Whispers wound through the willow, like tendrils soft and sly,
“Come, dear Cylo, heed the calling; let your spirit learn to fly.”
Once he laughed with joy and kindness, shared his tales by fire’s light,
But the river’s murmur changed him, turned his dreams to haunting night.
For deep within the currents, ancient sorrows found their way,
Tales of anguish, taints of sorrow, began to twist his thoughts astray.
Day by day, the shimmer faded from his once-bright, twinkling eyes,
Hope became a fleeting shadow, lost beneath the hollow skies.
In the deepening gloom of Misthaven, where no light dare tread or roam,
Bramble sought to find a heartbeat, long abandoned—far from home.
Rivers wrought with dark enchantment swirled like secrets, poisoned wine,
Filling hearts with shades of malice, rendering innocence malign.
Yet amid the churning waters, he remembered laughter's tune,
The friendship of his fellow hobbits, the glow of sun and moon.
He climbed the hill at dawn's first breaking, where the sunlight kissed the land,
Called upon the spirit of nature, lifting eyes to skies so grand.
With each step, he choked the darkness, scattered doubts into the air,
Summoning the strength of memories, weaving hope within despair.
“O, river of my childhood, flow with healing in your song,
Restore the joy of simple pleasures, banish grief where I belong.
Let the light upon the water, dance like fairies through the trees,
Guide me back to brighter mornings, bring my troubled spirit ease.”
And the river, heard his pleading, rippled gently with a sigh,
Pouring down its silver currents, washing all his fears awry.
From the depths of ancient sorrow emerged a brighter tapestry,
As the hobbit found his courage, in the heart of Misthaven’s plea.
So here’s to all the weary wanderers, lost upon their winding ways,
May the rivers whisper softly, through the dark and haunted days.
For even in the shadowed waters, where despair may seem to reign,
There blooms a light of pure resilience, guiding every heart through pain.
