Not a perfect poem, and it frustrates me a little that there isn't an even number of lines, but naturally I'm still proud of it. :)

An acrostic poem (the letters on the left spell something).

...

Frodo's pain begins to grow,

Loath is Sam to let him go,

If they're to make it to the Ford,

Glorfindel, the Elven Lord

Helps in every way he can,

Then cries aloud.

The horse began.

Only Asfaloth could fly

Too fast, almost, for mortal eye.

Hands are shaking at the rein,

Every moment glazed with pain.

Faster, faster, now they go,

Overtaking their dark foe,

Racing fear, white horse's gait,

Daring words, but now too late.