February 3, 2000
revised April 7, 2001

Against the tide of wind he rode,
A shadow in the day,
Of evil tidings he did bode,
To all who passed his way.

His name of old was Shadowfax,
He ran with speed of wind;
And never could the distance tax,
His faithfulness to friend.

Dire news of wars and deeds he bore,
Across the ages long:
Of kings and dreadful needs and lore,
And of an elven song.

Still onward he did ever ride;
So plain the hopeless task,
To help stem evil's dreadful tide
And still its dark death mask.