I wrote this poem when I was about 15 or 16 years old.

Ballad of Kithellas

On a cold winter's night,
and old and wise elf did sigh
as he gracefully walked in the moon's light.

He glowed with a fiery blaze,
illuminating the misty haze
in the deep, dark forest as he paced.

At last he found what he sought,
a young elf he had once taught
how to ease troublesome thoughts.

Now he, the boy, was becoming of age,
Kithellas was his name
and he journeyed to visit the great sage.

On a weary trek he had gone
before the birth of his son,
his wife left at home in Ethal Shelnon.

So talking they began
of the problems with man,
and of the evil from which Kithellas ran.

Turns out he was captured,
whipped, beaten and spirit punctured;
though he escaped, he had received no succor.

The wise elf gave him wisdom
and disappeared in an instant,
returned to his heavenly kingdom.

With his last bit of strength,
Kithellas strived to make
it home where it was safe.

Running now, through the trees,
though his aches would not cease,
he would make it home in one piece.

At last the line of forest came to an end,
his village he could see then
across teh lake Fi Elnen.

He took a boat across the bay
and to his home he found his way,
found his wife, knew not what to say.

She held their sone in her arms,
whome she gave to him, the infant unalarmed
as she gently dressed her husband's new scars.

The child shed tears, was sad,
the elf's wife took the small lad
who would grow to be like his father, Kithellas.

From his kingdom high above,
the wise elf released a dove
with a sealed letter to the ones he loved.