Tidings Poem by R.L. Clark
Tidings
I've stopped reading the morning's news,
the blare of proclamations issuing forth
from Modor's tower in the Land of Shadows.
Sauron ponders our fates east of the
Great River, as his sycophantic minions
defile what was once a great land.
With each Trumpet's rattle I hear the
clop of hooves upon the earth and
the sickly sweet smell of pestilence
in the air.
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8/27/2026 10:47:57 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
