This here is a poem that is about Éowyn, but I changed pretty much, mostly so that it would rhime. And sometimes you have no idea what is happening, and some things don't make to much sense, and I apologise.
"Take me with you!" she cried.
He looked at her, and sighed,
"Fair maiden of Rohan, I do not dare oppose you,
but now I fear I must. Thy place is with thy people" said he.
Anguish and despair followed her
as she ran up the stair.
Her room was solem, just as she
She wept a little, and mourned her destiny
It was not fair!
Suddenly she looked up and said;
"Do I dare?"
She sprang alive and once again
she sprang down the winding stair.
She dressed in black and took a sword
A helm she bore with start galore
A horse she mounted, the horse Golail
And as she'd ridden with the Dunedain
suddenly, from far away, she heard a cry of pain
at once she new, her brother was slain.
And as she marched with the Dunedain
couldent help but feel it was all in vain
but she rode on, fierce and proud
with the look of revenge blazing in her eyes.
One day, two three, she kept no count
but soon enough they all were there
The Dunedain, they crept away,
they did not like the mournfull trees
that made them fell at anything but ease
The Gates of Minas Tirith they saw in the gloom
gleaming at the with the light of the moon
But, of course there were, his troups with arms on Pelennor
The Battle, it was intent, the wink of an eye
and you could be dead
But forth they sprang, the Dunadain
cowarding not for beast or men
and as they sprang, with mithril swords
and Helms of gold
the battle sieced and none could naught but stare
and as she rode she screamed aloud:
"For Rohan!
For Rohan!"
And every Orc that passed her way
was beaten down and slain
As the gates approacched, she stopped dead
for a fierce and dreadfull scream she heard over her head.
When spotting her, He flew like wind
he laughed mercilessly and said:
"Do you dare?"
She raised her sword and so did he
and as she aimed a stroke at he
he swung about and with the power of the Dark Lord
He beat her down, upon the ground
He gloated and laughed again, but
this time it was his turn to stop dead
for behind him a little warrior lay
Merry of the Shire, the brave and noble Hobbit,
he thrust his sword into His flesh
a piercing scream, and He was dead.
"Take me with you!" she cried.
He looked at her, and sighed,
"Fair maiden of Rohan, I do not dare oppose you,
but now I fear I must. Thy place is with thy people" said he.
Anguish and despair followed her
as she ran up the stair.
Her room was solem, just as she
She wept a little, and mourned her destiny
It was not fair!
Suddenly she looked up and said;
"Do I dare?"
She sprang alive and once again
she sprang down the winding stair.
She dressed in black and took a sword
A helm she bore with start galore
A horse she mounted, the horse Golail
And as she'd ridden with the Dunedain
suddenly, from far away, she heard a cry of pain
at once she new, her brother was slain.
And as she marched with the Dunedain
couldent help but feel it was all in vain
but she rode on, fierce and proud
with the look of revenge blazing in her eyes.
One day, two three, she kept no count
but soon enough they all were there
The Dunedain, they crept away,
they did not like the mournfull trees
that made them fell at anything but ease
The Gates of Minas Tirith they saw in the gloom
gleaming at the with the light of the moon
But, of course there were, his troups with arms on Pelennor
The Battle, it was intent, the wink of an eye
and you could be dead
But forth they sprang, the Dunadain
cowarding not for beast or men
and as they sprang, with mithril swords
and Helms of gold
the battle sieced and none could naught but stare
and as she rode she screamed aloud:
"For Rohan!
For Rohan!"
And every Orc that passed her way
was beaten down and slain
As the gates approacched, she stopped dead
for a fierce and dreadfull scream she heard over her head.
When spotting her, He flew like wind
he laughed mercilessly and said:
"Do you dare?"
She raised her sword and so did he
and as she aimed a stroke at he
he swung about and with the power of the Dark Lord
He beat her down, upon the ground
He gloated and laughed again, but
this time it was his turn to stop dead
for behind him a little warrior lay
Merry of the Shire, the brave and noble Hobbit,
he thrust his sword into His flesh
a piercing scream, and He was dead.