Mithrandir, Mithrandir

He walks with silent footsteps through the wood
An old bent figure cloaked in grey
Materialized from mist of early day
His eyes are hidden in the shadows of his hood

In this realm of most ancient boughs
He seems young and yet so old
A new story so many times told
Encompassing everything, so much that he knows

And then he is revealed in brightest light
As a familiar and yet strange a face
Through fire and shadow grown in his might
Mithrandir stands before us robed in white

And in one look at him we learn
That he heralds the tide that is now to turn.

- Eowyn of Ithilien