Boromir was a warrior, but amongst the fellows of the ring he was but a gentle giant. After the lands of Middle Earth he emerged as a poet, if not a chronicler of lands like the Shire, where fields glistened in green rather than in the blood of its inhabitants. Boromir was proud of the fact that his fields were rich and his sword was clean.
This summer Boromir will return home. He has been invited to read his poetry to his former classmates, his neighbors, old girl friends, and those with whom he practiced war games. It will be a time of tears shed for those who walk unseen in the gardens at night, while farmers rest. It will be a celebration of words and music to celebrate the land, and the farmer.
Warriors wait for another day. This land was made for you and me.