Ah, Númenor!

Andor. Land of Gift

they called thee,

when thou were bright and new.

Echoing in our ears,

the words of the Valar

dripped from the leaves, pooled in the seas.

Our blood rushed and

the mountains trembled as our feet trod upon the shores

framed against a star-washed sky

and far off Avallónë.

Rushing, racing toward our destiny (or our doom),

we screamed into the wind

as the sea spray soaked us and

our ship decks rocked beneath our feet.

Then East!

Our land could not hold us, so

we ventured forth to seek new shores.

With fire in our eyes,

we looked toward our past, but saw only our future.

Driven,

we yearned for more.

Greater, yes. Richer, just so.

Longer — out of our reach.

They told us. Warned us.

But why should we not have forever?

They pleaded, in honeyed tones,

and we heeded no voice but our own.

His, in truth. But he convinced us his counsel was ours,

and we heeded no voice but our own.

They pleaded, in honeyed tones,

but why should we not have forever?

They told us. Warned us.

Longer? Out of our reach.

Greater, yes. Richer, just so.

We yearned for more.

Driven.

We looked toward our past, but saw only our future.

With fire in our eyes,

we ventured forth to seek new shores.

Our land could not hold us, so

then West!

Our ship decks rocked beneath our feet

as the sea spray soaked us and

we screamed into the wind.

Rushing, racing toward our destiny (or our doom)

and far-off Avallónë,

framed against a star-washed sky.

The mountains trembled as our feet trod upon the shores.

Our blood rushed, and

dripped from the leaves, pooled in the seas.

The words of the Valar

echoing in our ears.

When thou were bright and new

they called thee

Andor. Land of Gift.

Ah, Númenor ...