The Elven King

His mother had waited for him

for all the months before his birth,

in the awareness that this son,

she didn't know how,

would have been a bit special.

 

He was born in the magical summer night,

between the song of the crickets

and the bright trail of shooting stars.

 

She had rocked him

and now He slept serene

in the bamboo basket

among tufts of rich juicy fruits.

 

The house gnomes had worked all day

quick and silent

to prepare the magic

and finally,

it was time.

 

"Scent of Wood,

Poplar Seed Powder,

Whoosh of Spring,

Glow of the Mountains:

 

the mother dozed off

and the Elven King appeared.

 

The song of the Owl

and a flash,

like a blade in the warm August sky.

 

Then it all vanished.

 

It was just like that:

he was a bit special.

Quiet, proud, powerful,

curious, attentive.

 

He never seemed to seek approval

instead he collected everywhere

love and admiration.

 

It was just like that:

this son was very special.

 

He became an elegant, intrepid boy,

bright with courage, beautiful,

determined.

Domineering, bright.

 

The busy and silent gnomes

had watched over his path,

he didn't know it,

his mother sensed it.

 

"Scent of the Wood,

Poplar Seed Powder,

Whoosh of Spring,

Glow of the Mountains.

 

A lightning.

 

The Elven King returned

to claim his offspring.

 

So, the story of the great,

the greatest of Elven Kings,

began.

 

It began.


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