A/N: Wow. Two posts in one day. How peculiar. I wrote this poem
a month or so ago and never did anything with it. This weekend
my humanities homework was to write a poem about anything… so I
rediscovered it and decided to put it to some use. It's
technically about Éomer (note the last line) but could really be
any of the Rohirrim.  Disclaimer: Let's see, Tolkien's,
Tolkien's, and, look at that, Tolkien's.  Song of a Rider  The
plains whirl by in splashes of green sea  Hills roll up and down
in the corner of his eye  But he can't feel them  Only the
mountains don't move  For he certainly does  Every bone, every
piece  Is in motion  Every piece of the creature he rides  His
steed, his companion  Moves too  Moves with him  They are one on
the plains, chasing the hills  The White Mountains watch  Golden
hair and grey tail  Fly loose behind  Two banners on the wind  A
greater symbol than any flag he bears  Sword is strapped to
saddle  Forgotten in the wind, in the rush  Uncalled for,
unneeded  The day stretches fo