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poetry

Forgettable

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Poetry

I wake in the morning, 

I look in the mirror,

I don't why I cannot see myself,

I don't who I am ...

Anymore.

 

I go through the motions,

Like walking through water,

I'm drowning, I can't save myself,

I know there's no one there ...

Anymore.

 

Like glass I cannot see ...

That's what I've become to me ...

 

I turn away,

I cannot stay,

I know that I am fading.

I'm so invisible.

 

Whitebird

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Poetry

Whitebird

Skytraveller, Skytraveller,
Where hither dost thou go?
Stand tall and spread thy wings,
Scatter the seeds of growth thou shallt sow,

Quickwing, Quickwing,
Raise thy eyes to the night,
Follow the Mariner's guidance,
Let the air cleanse you as you take flight,

Whitebird, Whitebird,
With thy everlasting laugh,
Ascend in a storm of feathers,
Find the whole in the path you tread half,

Tales of the Songweaver and the Scribe

Author: 
Strangely enough, no names are elaborated upon - the only "authors" given are "The Songweaver" and "The Scribe"

This unusually ornate book seems to be on Faewenil's person at all times, and is filled with various songs, fables, and poetry written by two unknown figures which simply go by the titles "The Scribe" and "The Songweaver".

What should I do?

in
What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Poetry

Oh what should I do
When I walk out the door?
What wonderful things
Today lay in store?
There's so many things
To see or to do
I'll wait a short while
To think of a few

I could work in the garden
To tend to my flowers
With trusty old tools
I'd potter for hours
I could work on a carving
Or some other craft
Then I'd chat to my neighbours
And share in a laugh

Visitors

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Poetry

A busy day was once more done
And I had started making tea
There was an aching in my tum
A feast of food awaited me!
With bread and cheese and stew and fish
And pies and tarts upon a dish

I started laying out my plates
Whilst thinking if I needed more
I heard a-rattling of the gate
And then a-knocking at my door
Now who's that interrupting me?
I was about to have my tea!

The Bounder

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Poetry

In Hobbiton there stands arrayed
In tattered cloak, with rusted blade
A bounder of some fine renown
His name is known throughout the town

He wears a shirt that once was blue
Now stained, it's lost a button too
And rather tight about the waist
He's not the sort who would make haste

He's may be shaky on his feet
But gladly smiles to folks he meets
By mainly folk inside an Inn
For Inns are where you'll find him in

Song of the Winds

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

Uilossiel wearily put down her quill and glanced out the window. Golden light streamed through the window, and the leaves still hung green and thick upon the trees. Yet there was a new tang in the air, the promise of colder days marking a subtle shift in the seasons. She sighed and pushed away the manuscript in front of her, then rose and made her way to the window.

The Secret Poem

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Poetry

I told a secret to a good old friend
About a golden ring I had just found
Whilst working on my treasured flower bed
I'd dug it up from deeply in the ground

Because the ring was rather valuable
I told him not to tell a single soul
And so I left him standing at the bar
As I returned, unthinking, to my hole

My friend them spoke to Barmy at the Inn
About these many wondrous golden rings
He said they must be worth a fair few coins
But cautioned Barmy not to say a thing

What my Mother Said

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Poetry

I wish I heeded what my mother said
She told me early always go to bed
She said I had to eat up all my greens
And to keep my hands all washed and clean
Yet I never ever did

She told not to make a lot of noise
And to tidy up my games and toys
And not to leave my clothes upon the floor
She shouted if I loudly banged the door
But alas, I always did

A Poem for Miss Acorne

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Poetry

How sweet she is, the Queen of Spring
Of her, we hobbits, often sing
Her kindness is for every thing
A smile she always gladly brings

The flowers decorate her hair
Her eyes are soft, her gaze so fair
And in her happiness we share
For everyone she dearly cares

A summer's glow upon her face
We love to feel her warm embrace
Her presence brightens any place
A lass that's truly full of grace

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