Hello everyone. This is my first time posting a poem here. It is about Eowyn the White Lady and her life struggles.

Enjoy!

disclaimer: I don't even own the idea.


The White Flower

The white flower stands alone,

Her eyes, there flickered a smoldering flame.

Her hands were cold, her words were sharp,

She suffered none to say her name.

She never watched the morning rising'

Forever her duties claimed her life.

Gone was the carefree existence she once led,

Now her days were filled with strife,

Too proud she was to speak of fear

For a bitter strength drove her on,

To endure the days that passed so slowly.

She knew her life was almost gone.

Skilled in battle, a shieldmaiden she was,

Wielding a blade as cold and hard as she.

Her duty was always with her people,

Not on the battlefield where she yearned to be.

Battle-weary and exhausted were they, whom she tended,

While she herself longed to take their place.

To fight for the dearest in her heart,

But she could never take their place.

Her life was shrinking, she was diminishing,

To the cold of the night oft she spoke.

Friendless she was within those walls,

Into despair and misery that she awoke.

As cold and fair as a frozen lily,

Shapely and beautiful yet hard and cold.

Her stern will was hard to break,

Daughter, she was, of kings of old.

Her stern will born of duty snapped, for she,

Could not tend the house while the men had left.

She cared not for all the things around her,

For her there was nothing left, save death.

Into battle under guise there she went,

She had skill in which no man could contest.

With each stroke she dealt, swift but deadly,

Tirelessly she fought, with no rest.

A screeching cry went up in the air,

The hearts of men around her quailed.

With a shriek the foul beast went for her father,

She watched in horror as her heart failed.

Fey she seemed, her mood was grim,

She stood before her father's doom.

She did not blench for her will was set.

For in her heart fear had no room.

T

o the ground she cast down the beast of carrion,

Bereft of its head did it fall.

In turn she was wounded, for her mighty deeds,

She passed into the twilight and knew no more.

Her hurts were healed, but she wished to die,

So icy was her heart of stone.

To join the battle that still went on,

For in the city of stone she was all alone.

Her life was empty, no purpose she had,

For the king of men held no love for her.

So to battle she looked, for an honorable death,

For existence held nothing more for her.

But, lo! He comes with a gentle heart,

Melting her ice within the heart of her own,

Pity, love, and admiration he had,

For her deeds had set her among the great queens of renown.

None could touch the maid of frost but a gentle word,

And soon she feels life's warm breath gently over her.

And when the dawn is raised the ice within will melt away,

And she will be as lovely as a flower in the spring.