Note: This is my own rendition of J.R.R Tolkien's poem Lament of the Rohirrim / The Horse and the Rider (which in turn is based on The Wanderer), and should be read for what it is: a fun interpretation from a creative point of view.
Where are the stems and the bowls, and the bright beards flowing?
Where are the swords in their hands, and the fiery hearts glowing?
Where is the glint in their eyes and the passion and the tall words growing?
They have passed like water in the streams, like embers from the fires;
The days have gone down in the Mark without them, their friends and their sires.
Who shall gather the fragments from the weed that is drying,
Or behold the coming years when the smoke from a pipe is once again flying?