Cry for Gondor

The steep and cobblestoned
streets are strewn with
blossoms, crushed by the
feet of horses.

Gondor’s soldiers are going to
their death, for the sake of
a mad steward and a
notion of honor.

All is lost and all is
gone, never to be returned to
its former glory. Gondor will
burn in the flames.

Her hero dead, her people
bereft, one man must
keep the faith of the western
lands in his heart.

For if his allegiance does not
lie with Gondor, then where will
she turn in her hours of
need?

Words cannot dissuade him, for his
heart has gone cold with the harsh
words tossed at him as he left the
great hall.

The steep and cobblestoned
streets are strewn with
blossoms, now dead and soaked
with blood.