Alas, Legolas, fair prince of Mirkwood
caressed by golden light, beneath the trees he stood
Gentle lips moving silently, his voice stolen by passing breezes
all whose eyes behold him, their eyes alight and their heart freezes

No blood nor age shall stain his peaceful face
not through Moria, Helmsdeep or the Dark Lord's place
His arrow flies from slender fingers, swift and true
a feathered killer through the air in colours green and blue

A ranger of the wild and a miner of riches with a prince
made a friendship of three
While the king of Mirkwood and his Elven kin
sailed away beyond the sea

by pina