A/N: Wow. Two posts in one day. How peculiar. I wrote this poem a month or so ago and never did anything with it. This weekend my humanities homework was to write a poem about anything… so I rediscovered it and decided to put it to some use. It's technically about Éomer (note the last line) but could really be any of the Rohirrim.
Disclaimer: Let's see, Tolkien's, Tolkien's, and, look at that, Tolkien's.
Song of a Rider
The plains whirl by in splashes of green sea
Hills roll up and down in the corner of his eye
But he can't feel them
Only the mountains don't move
For he certainly does
Every bone, every piece
Is in motion
Every piece of the creature he rides
His steed, his companion
Moves too
Moves with him
They are one on the plains, chasing the hills
The White Mountains watch
Golden hair and grey tail
Fly loose behind
Two banners on the wind
A greater symbol than any flag he bears
Sword is strapped to saddle
Forgotten in the wind, in the rush
Uncalled for, unneeded
The day stretches forth in a thousand different directions
No time at all or all the ages of the world
It doesn't matter
Not now, now
There's just a man and his horse
Ride on, Firefoot, ride on
