Postlude

When the darkness gathers,

let memory rise as flame—

bright as the White Tree in bloom,

its roots drinking deep

from the waters of time.

When silence deepens,

let the song remain,

a thread of silver

woven through the night,

carried by nightingales

to the halls of the West.

When the path grows narrow,

let love be the lantern,

its light a promise

against the encroaching dark.

And when the world forgets,

we will return to light—

a fire unquenched,

an echo unending,

a star rekindled in the East.

Nai elen siluva lyenna.

“May a star shine upon you.”