Disclaimer: Tolkien imagined Arda… Kortirion speculates in the margins
The curved quay makes an elegant arc, restraining the wild surf beating against it; sheltering the swan boats moored in safety. No blood stains the grey granite, no fire-blacked walls turn empty-eyed windows to the sea; nothing screams here, but white gulls flying.
Long it was before they dared return, contrite, asking forgiveness. How shocked they were to look on Avallónë reborn. We planted trees and cut timbers, shaping again our high-prowed ships. We prosper, fishing, trading our crafts; we sail for the exhilarating delight of feeling the ocean’s roll. How foolish to imagine us merely as abandoned dead ashes.