| His legs took him to a place long forgotten to his feet, |
| but kept still within the deep recesses of his memory. |
| The path was sure of foot, |
| and sure of direction. |
| A dark stone road, |
| hewn of the tar and gravel from the Depths. |
| A grum road, |
| but a sure road. |
| He had returned to the land of the MiddleGround, |
| where he had resided for nigh a decade. |
| He knew all the hidden paths and routes, |
| that wound between, |
| over and asunder, |
| around and beneath, |
| both mountain and stream, |
| and valley and cliff-face, |
| this land was the land of his becoming, |
| this land beneath fair stars, |
| and light clouds, |
| where the wind cooled |
| but did not chill, |
| and the lands were safe |
| from both sea and storm, |
| There between the U-Horn gulch, |
| in the land of the MiddleGround. |
Soo... this was supposed to be a poem, but I think it's just come out as prose-like gibberish that reminds me of Tolkien.