The nine poems (of the Fellowship)

July 17, 2009
Submitted By Oer

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All that is old does not wither
and all that is cleaved is not lost
The sword reforged will not linger
but burn in the battle with lust

The wizard is mighty and fearless indeed
he uses no saddle when he rides his steed
Biter the orcs named the blade that he wield
his staff shines with blinding light when he's in need

The elf is so fair and light footed
his eyes could pierce the darkest cloud
His bow and its arrows are sacred
they whistle through air fast and loud

The dwarf burns with anger and fury
his axe swings at orcs broad and cold.
When he blew the horn in Helmsdeep
they could hear him at Westfold.

The Halflings have little desire or greed
but would kill for some food and some southfarthing weed
They are not much as fighters though fight good in need
and love growing things and use much time to seed

The man comes from Gondor’s white city
where trumpets of silver are blown
He's valiant brave and goodhearted
but the ring has a will of its own

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