Forest old dark and dim,
hold a special place for him.
He is a thinker, and had passion,
fighting and violence – not his fashion.
Long ago proud he was,
a kingdom bright,
the clouds his gauze,
brought down to earth by another’s might.
His deeds were played a foul,
even though wise as an owl.
Forgotten now by his kind,
only by few he is recognised,
for he is still king in their eyes.
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The dead marhes through the eyes of a child who witnessed it. Though it may be your initial reponse, please keep in mind that it is not based off any real characture from Lord of the Rings. I made this one all up. Please comment.
Some people asked me to expand this poem. I didn’t want it to sound too forced, but I finally did it.
A farewell to a gentle friend.
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