Lament for the Rohirrim
by J.R.R. Tolkien
Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?
Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?
Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?
Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall corn growing?
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;
The days have gone down into the West behind the hills into shadow.
Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning,
Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?1
Today is November 11th. Today, we of the British Commonwealth pause to remember the end of World War I and the men and women who gave their lives in it and in all wars. It is customary on this day to play the Last Post, followed by a moment of silence and the Rouse. Here is a recording of the Last Post and Rouse if you wish to listen to it.
Poems from other years:
2020: “We who have bowed ourselves to Time,” by Geoffrey Bache Smith
Note:
1J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers, Book 3, Chapter 6
Remembered Lore 
Thank you. Remembering Sam Greenwood, my great-grandfather, who perished in August 1918, just weeks before the end of the Great War.
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I feel there is a Tolkien quote I could give in reply to this, but I will say that it is an honour to have such a memory in one’s heritage.
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