Here is a repost of my poem from a few years back that shows the Dunedain did, in fact, invent the Christmas tree
![Smile :)](./images/smilies/icon_smile.gif)
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For my friends...
The Rangers Three
In winter my thoughts often stray
in the hours between now and yesterday
when a dying fire keeps old bones warm
and my memories are free to form
visions of those times now long past
when winter held our land fast
and the farm was so barren and froze
that one day Father rose
and pack us up, Mother and me
two in the wagon, or was it three
for Mother carried my brother yet born
and we set out that icy morn
to make the snowy trek to Bree
where we'd be safe, hopefully
I was bundled in furs and sat close and tight
against Mother's hip as Father sat right
and urged Old Bob to start on his way
as he obliged the wagon bumped and swayed
Our cold hearthed home left behind
Father spoke words warm and kind
and talked of Bree and a house in town
with plenty of children around
for me to play with, and he even spoke
of me meeting some of the Little Folk
for while I was sure of his teasing
his talk to me was most pleasing
and I imagined Bree as a city of delights
and it filled my dreams that night
as we camped near the Road
or close enough, for truth be told
snow covered the land and as the next day loomed
Father looked out to see our icy doom
for in the night winter's snows fell deep
the top of the wagon began to seep
Old Bob neighed and whined and begged to stop
but he lurched forward with an icy clop
as we headed on into the icy waste
Father urged him on in haste
for Mother's pains began and I grew afraid
of the foolish plans Father made
for the day wore on and as far as we could see
was nothing but snow, no sign of Bree
and as night began to slowly fall
Old Bob faltered, failed and stalled
for while he and the plow were the best of friends
to the grave did Bob that wagon send
and died he in harness and brass nail tack
I cried against his old broad back
and our wagon beset by the coming snow
there was nowhere else to go
darkness fell as we huddled tight
against the chill of that winter's night
and I could see in my Father's face
that he knew death was waiting in this place
My mother's cries were an agony
my small body shook in misery
and Father wept as Mother cried out in pain
brother would be born on that icy plain
but then in the darkness I saw a light
small at first, but then it grew bright
for on a hill there seemed to blaze
a tree! A tree! and I was amazed
for the limbs reaching tall and high
were alit against the snowy night sky
full of stars, it seemed, and it glowed so warm
that I knew we were safe from harm
and towards that light Father led Mother and me
towards that bright glowing tree
crowned by a star's silver shine
it was the King of the forest pine
and then out of the darkness came three in hood and cloak
nary a word between them spoke
but they helped Father lay Mother down
on a bed of straw upon the snowy ground
and the Three in hoods fur-lined
spoke softly, their words strange and sublime
and through her labour my brother was born
in the early hours of that Yule morn
under the branches that I could now see
the many tallowed candles that lit the tree
and on that last branch so high and far
was affixed a brooch shaped like a star
and now I knew who had saved us from danger
the hooded men were three Rangers!
By my mother and her newborn child
they didn't seem so weathered and wild
but seemed to me that the Three
like Kings they stood under that tree
and with the coming of day
helped Father and us find the way
to Bree and that house long promised
that long ago night now like a dream erased
as my children's children sit at my knee
and hear the story of the Rangers Three
and look in the corner for the proof of the tale
for every Yule now when the sun grow pale
my own tree blazes with light
to guide to shelter those lost in the night...
Ken