Elf Poetry

A young elf lad
as old in what he's clad
his elder's gone ahead
now some of them are dead

a war without end
if only a hand he could lend
if all goes well
still the tolling of a bell

though all goes awry
he can barely ask why
his will spent
though in the enemy no dent

now lights melt the sky
he's still afraid to die.

-browne [justify]