Collection of Rhymes
Rolling plains of gold and green,
Mighty halls afar are seen,
Their horses fair,
Not to compare,
Valiant men through the ages they've been.
The Last Royal Family dwelleth here,
Where shadows have been drawing near,
The forest green,
By evil seized -
Shall the price for freedom be dear?
White towers in the morning sun,
Seven levels to overcome,
Silver trumpets ringing clear,
Calling home all who are near,
Some day a King returning to their throne.
Tumbling waters pouring down,
Elven singing all around,
Clear from afar,
Her brothers making trouble abound.
More ancient than the Elven Halls,
Still standing while their holding falls,
Older than skies,
Within it lies,
Deep secrets, it will always stand tall.
Elven Prince from woodland land,
Swift to laugh yet fell with hand,
As golden as the beaches sand.
Darkened skies defy the light,
Casting land in ever night,
No hope lives on,
All good is gone,
All cowers in the mountains might.
Between the mountains and the sea,
It stands defiant, fighting free,
Front line of war,
It's ever bourn,
The brunt of Sauron's malignity.
A farming land yet free from toil,
With gentle folk and well tilled soil,
With rivers, fields,
And harvest yields,
And merriment and good friends loyal.
Brother to him who was killed,
His wise mind yet in battle skilled,
A valiant man,
Doing what he can,
To earn respect from his father still.
Silver as the morning dew,
Old and yet a spirit new,
Wild and fey,
Yet came the day,
He was tamed by wizard whose ways he knew.
A coat of deepest auburn red,
His first master now lieth dead,
A war horse brave,
Saved from watery grave
Lord Aragorn; from then by lord was lead.
Elven steed from Rivendell,
Where his mistress Arwen dwells,
Saved at the Ford,
Arwen with her sword,
Frodo from the Nazgul fell.
Paths of the Dead
None have walked that path for long,
Beneath the mountain; what goes on?
The old men's ghosts,
Who failed their oath,
Yet linger while Isildur is gone.
The Grey Havens
The furthest refuge in Middle Earth,
Where the fair folk leave the land of their birth,
White ships like swans,
Depart ever on,
Leaving mortal lands with little mirth.
The tower black stands strong and tall,
A place for stargazing before its fall,
His battle fought,
He sinks to darkness, his prison stall.
A warrior brave and a loyal heart;
Yet the Ring corrupted him from the start.
Could not withstand,
Without golden band;
He was felled in battle by blackened darts.
As Half-Elven known, and healer famed,
His refuge lasting through the age;
A wise, fair mind,
With love inside,
Aragorn he held as a son and raised.
A creature withered, tortured, old,
When he stole the Ring his soul he sold,
Ever yearning for the Precious,
A hunger greater than all measures,
Yet his part in the tale would for ages be told.
The Deceiver of all Middle Earth;
Though not evil from his birth,
The Rings he commands,
With vice like arms,
Though the One he holds above all worth.
Once a man both great and wise,
Who saw wide and far with piercing eyes;
Fallen to madness,
Driven by sadness,
Upon the flaming pyre he died.
An aged old King of a mighty land,
Who suffered greatly at Saruman's hand;
To battle rode he,
Restored and free,
Snowmane proved his bane in the end.
From Dol Amroth the fair he rode,
With five hundred knights upon the road;
To Gondor's aid,
Foremost he came,
A Prince and soldier, not overly bold.
Nor more a mere hobbit from the Shire;
For now his perils grow ever dire;
In Gondor's hour,
He found his power,
And saved Lord Faramir from his pyre.
More courageous than song could ever tell,
Renowned for the creature he aided to fell,
Yet a hobbit still,
Though the Witch King was killed,
And with pipe and weed he mastered well.