I remember
when I was small, how he would
smile and tousle my hair when my brother
and I spent time with him
how he would show us maps of old and
sing ancient ballads (though
we did not then understand the words)
and explain the importance of our
family’s history.
Then he was nearer, and did not hold himself
from our laughter, nor turn us away dismissively
when we arrived at his door.
Now he seems cold and
impervious, watching over Gondor with all
the emotion of the Argonath.
This is not the father I
remember from my young days