A Verse of the Lament for Boromir for the East Wind
From the Black Lands, through Morgul Vale, past Osgiliath's broken halls
the East Wind whistles its withering way as the chill of evening falls.
"Despair, proud Men," it hisses, voices laced with cruel, fell arts,
"your Boromir died dishonored - the Shadow darkens the bravest hearts."
Yet he lies arrayed in a high-prowed boat, his beloved face calm, and fair,
and the sweet clear voices of the Halflings tell of valour, not despair.
No time yet for tears - without her Captain, the White Tower must go to war
For the black wind brings the stench of death past the Anduin's long-held shore.
O Boromir! O'er the Pelennor, the banner of the White Tree flies
and the East Wind falls to silence when the clear, bright Sun shall rise.
[I've been wanting to write this for about eight years, and it finally just came out the way it seemed to me like it should be.
I did my best to mimic the rhythm and rhyme scheme of the first three verses. The sentiments make me think of Faramir, though I'm sure he's a much better poet than I.]