A single blade of grass bestirs
And bows upon itself
The lightest step of Middle Earth
The Eldar race, an elf

A boot more rough, yet placed with care
Beside with little sound
Though man, a ranger sharp of ear,
Who lightly treads the ground

Again, a boot, a heavy tread,
Descends upon the grass
A man with feet of stonework bred
Shoots bend to let him pass

A harder step of ironclad feet
Give bruises to the stems
His eyes are for the halls behind
And thoughts, of glowing gems

Eight smaller feet, in humbler form
Now stir the supple blades
Four hobbits, as before the storm
Soft breezes pass away

The crickets reign supreme again
And slowly, one by one
The grasses straighten, spring unbent
Until the path is gone

Suddenly the peace is rent
With twisted feet that crush
The grass is flattened, downward-sent
Beneath the dreadful rush

The night fades in the rising sun
And though by evil torn
The grasses rise, the battle won
To greet the shining morn.