Spear
A mighty crusader enters the woods
in search of a red herring.
Eyes lost in distant treetops,
a tunic in need of mending.
He searched the canopy patiently,
but somewhere along the path,
Hope slipped away,
swallowed by wounds past.
Rocks and hard places
buried a tentative nobility.
The white horn blows,
relentless glacier of ability.
Mountains make up your path,
you reach out for distant valleys,
Taking your time to erode,
you carry the dreams of many.
Bearing the banner of rampage
you surprise me at every turn.
Better suited to the Rohirrim,
I see the star in you burn.