"The Last Reigning Steward"

Work: The Lord of the Rings
Character(s): Denethor
Category: Poetry
Rating: PG
Warning: Contains SPOILERS for those who have not read "The Return of the King"! Includes some non-movie events!
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An old Steward once reigned
—Denethor he was named—
Over Minas Tirith so fair
To defend land and friend
His first son met his end
And the Steward wept tears of despair

And the Steward he thought
Of his second son naught
He loved better the one of more years
To battle he rode
And though courage he showed
The young son's eyes held bitter tears

Only Gondor he saw
He rode into Death's maw
Scarcely escaping with breath
And wounded, returned
While Osgiliath burned
And his father saw for him death

Mad the Steward became
Calling out his son's name
That his line was done and his pow'r
Servants built him a pyre
And brought oil and fire
That they both would burn in this hour

But the Halfling suspected
Madness was reflected
In the actions of Steward once kind
And for help he ran
Fast as all Hobbits can
That Mithrandir might know the man's mind

Then Mithrandir flew in
And the man's face was grim
After losing both son and son's brother
A great orb in the hand
Of the Steward once grand
And a torch burning bright in the other

"But, my Lord, he's not dead!"
This the young Halfling said
Hoping the man would realize
Then Denethor knew
That these words did ring true
And a strange look came into his eyes

The Palantír he took
Though his with'ring hands shook
And he threw the torch down on the pyre
And there he did stand
Terrible and grand
Till he was consumed by the fire

And long it was said
After Steward was dead
In tales of old legend and lore
That to look in the Stone
All the viewer was shown
Were the burning hands of Denethor.

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I'm quite proud of this poem, I think it's one of my better ones. Reviews?