A maiden she was, slender and fair,
yet, strength she had for war.
Her sword arm, true, beyond compare,
she would ride her grey horse far.
Her father said "You must stay home,
war is not for thee young maid".
Tying up her golden hair in a comb,
she put on a helmet and rode away.
Galloping into battle, dressed as man,
determined to protect her King.
Foul, winged beast, slain by her hand,
as small hobbit's sword saved his friend.
The least amoung us, oft' times,
has courage to change history's lines.