I dwell in Asgard

I'll train with sword and buckler till my muscles ache with strain, And the sweat runs down my body, but you won't hear me complain! I'll practice, too, the longbow, for a Ranger I might be, To roam through fair Ithilien, to ensure that it stays free.

I've oft heard tales of battle at my grandsire's knee, Of loyalty, and courage, that's where I want to be; On a field with banners rippling in a breeze against the sky, And proud and prancing chargers as the knights go riding by.

I'm destined to be Steward, but even better before then I'll be Captain of a Company of brave and valiant men; My armour I'll keep polished, so it reflects my pride As a son of the White City, where my heart shall always bide. Keen-edged shall always be my sword, my mount a stallion strong Of noble heart and spirit, to bear me all day long.

But while I've heard about the glory, bright blades flashing in the sun And the comradeship of soldiers, when the day is done, Still I'm not so young a child to think that war's a game; I've seen soldiers come back, wounded, blind, or lame. I've been taught that even victories are paid for in men's lives And some will never come home again to parents, children, wives. But I know 'tis what I was born for, to protect and to defend And if I must die, it shall be enough if I meet my end With bravery, in the service of all that I do love And my name's recalled with honour when I am spoken of.

Poem respectfully based on "A Tarry Buccaneer" by John Masefield. Bonus black and white version of the picture before I coloured it. (Note that in the coloured version, obviously the White Tree on Boromir's tunic should be white, but I didn't have anything that could trace a fine point white line over the tree once I'd coloured in around it. And originally I'd thought of all the images that Boromir was seeing as cloud shapes, and drew them with fairly light lines, but decided to darken them up and then colour them in for easier visibility online.)