The golden sun had set upon the wolds
and the cold autumn winds were blowing in the folds.
O'er many a grey, forgotten road,
a lone traveler carried his load.
His heavy load was a sack
which hung o'er his shoulder and on his back.
In the sack was food—how not?—
but in the bottom was something which of gold was wrought.
A cup it was; it was studded with jewels
which had been found in cold, dark pools
which had of old been dragons' hoards
but had been filled with water by olden lords.
Beside the cup there was a plate
whose gems and gold had been mined with hate
from mountains' sides by dwarfs of old;
but now its olden gold was cold.
Who now knows what dark, terrible fate
fell to this traveler and his cup and plate?
T. G. 2014 (?)
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