News of war from the southern lands,
Many of those needed with capable hands,
A brave man and his son go through the wilds,
They see there camps, showing the White Tree,
Amidst ancient ruins and gardens fallen grim,
All that happened has been seen, by the Anduin,
In service to the Stewards and the Queen,
Weilding strong iron with a silver sheen.
"My son fight well and you'll get your fame!"
"Come my son, you've deserved your name!"
Standing with comrades sturdy and tall,
Shields together! "All for one, and one for all!"
"In the forest of Ithilien or at distant shores",
"Fight on my son like the heroes of yore!"
"And as I lay down, felled down at last!",
"Live on my son! You are all that is left!"
In service to the Stewards and the Queen,
Weilding a sharp spear with a silver sheen.
"My father close your eyes and sleep."
"At your passing I won't laugh nor weep."
Tightly dressed is the Gondorian line,
yet sometimes by ill luck broken in twain.
Many fell, the son of the man nearly spent,
Spattered in red, his hauberk torn and rent,
Biting his teeth, with his weapon to be cast,
"I am Geirdrifa.. And my spear strikes last!"
