Like a Viking king you rise,
from the ash heap full of lies.
Clothe yourself in armor again…
wash away years of toil and pain.
The warrior in you has never died.
The courage there could never hide.
Strengthen your grip by holding your sword.
Lead the way as Riddermark’s Lord.
Let the horns blow throughout the land.
At Helm’s Deep you will make your stand.
Saruman’s aim went wide of the mark.
Gandalf’s light broke through the dark.
Deception was unmasked in time,
so you could rise up in your prime.
Better to end your days in a fight
with others against Mordor’s might;
than to waste away believing lies
by a master who loves to disguise.
Ride forth like Eorl of old,
shepherding your flock in the fold.
Like a dotard you will not die,
but in a green mound with kings you will lie.
Simbelmynë will adorn your grave,
crowning the Rohan you fought to save.
Your people will mourn, yet sing your praise.
Your ending was a triumph to all your days.
By H. R. Peters
© 2004 “Songs of the Shire, vol. 2”
www.hrpeters.com
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