Do you not love me, Eowyn?
Are your eyes so unseeing in the present?
Has the shadow finally captured your dreams
and released them like a dove to storms?
*
Do you not love me, Eowyn?
I am Steward of Gondor, Prince of Ithilien,
where moonlit silver water trickles
through the light green woods
and hides the haunts of rangers,
who meet in secret behind the falls,
by the ledges of The Forbidden Pool
on the edge of Mordor under threat.
*
Ithlien, your wild beauty so close to doom,
a secret far south, to the ruins of Osgiliath.
Ithlien, as bright as birds, but does not sing.
It hides in slumber and knows no freedom.
Yet it is a place as beautiful as Rivendell.
Ithlien, so you have heard of such a place?
*
Do you not love me, Eowyn?
I would not know.
Or do you love Aragorn, still?
If you did or if you didn't. I would not know.
For I have not known love.
*
Yet when I heard your laughter, my wounds sang.
We walked long and golden in the city garden,
by the house of healing where we were stayed.
Both of us were ravaged and torn, by then.
Some forgotten war had been waged inside us.
*
Yet I found thee beautiful still, life renewed.
The cold spring that carries the thrust of ice
within its heart, as if the winter lay eternal,
was adrift in my arms. The first bud opened.
It was your mauve eyes as yet unlit by dawn.
Do you not love me, Eowyn?
Our time of doom has passed.
