How do you walk on,

In the creeping, sliding shadows that wickedly wind

Their twisting tendrils about your ankles?

Unbroken, across murky fens,

The desolate midden of someone else's empty-chambered heart?

And pacific,

Through the secret tombs of the restless dead?

The bright star of the kingdom,

The Elf-stone on which it is built,

Is swathed in tatters of innumerable, bleeding shades of grey.

Left standing as a solitary bulwark to deter the coming of the Lord.



Elessar,

How do you walk on

Where most would have fallen?

It seems that you are made of

More than most men.