Why is It?
I can bear my own pain as a burden of air
Shake off defeat and repudate despair
Wield all my thoughts with words of steel
... and fail utterly to help my friend heal?
His distress wounds me as no weapon can
Tears fall like acid to burn idle hand
Stopt on my tongue all the words I would say
They don't sound so clever when it is not I who pray
I long for the magic that Aragorn possessed
To breath life and health into my friends distressed
With a word and a gesture and a healing plant
I would ease all the grief; but I am Sam, so I can't