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‚Ķ so I rediscovered it and decided to put it to some use. It's technically about √Čomer (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 forth in a thousand different directions

No time at all or all the ages of the world

It doesn't matter

Not now, now

There's just a man and his horse

Ride on, Firefoot, ride on