Smile
Pale and cold as summers morn.
As sad as day upon the edge of night,
Yet just as beautiful.
With hair of the palest gold,
And eyes of the steeliest gray.
Tall and proud like her ancestors of old.
Strong, but slim,
She stands.
Garbed in white,
She remains as dark as if she was night herself.
Her kin the bravest soldiers.
Daughter of kings,
No longer weep for those who give you not which you seek,
Come and smile.
Smile for one who will give you his heart,
Come and smile for me.
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Authors Note: Well on all my unpublished uncompleted stories I have come to a complete stop. So I present you with some crappy poetry (I hate my poetry and will accept flames). The woman is Eowyn (and anyone who didn't get that needs to do two things. First please reread any part of the Lord Of The Rings with Eowyn -no not watch the movie. read. is that so alien-. Then please dispose of yourself by the most most painful means available.) The man who is writing this poem is Faramir (and if you didn't get that reread the Houses of Healing -which will be in the EE of ROTK YAY- and then again dispose of yourself.) Review please.