the stuff of legends

with no concern for what is still to come
they climb the mountain seeking a new flower
those who observe from the last elven tower
have yet to calculate the aggregate sum
of human miseries that leave mortals numb
but cannot be relieved through elven power
beasts that from immortal beings cower
are not by men and women rendered glum
still there's a tale that hasn't long been heard
about the one who dreamt a golden thread
from plain to mountain in a simple line
that would have been unmade by a harsh word
but frightened beings ominous and dread
to creep back under the dark worried pine
until their master could some strength refine
and to a greater action each monster spurred
out of a light made more of dark than red
above their heads the sable-coloured bird
cawed once but still no goblin ever stirred
while our brave heroes drank the summer wine
we know the story but we will not here wait
instead we hurry to praise and applaud the great