The nine poems (of the Fellowship)

<p>All that is old does not wither<br /> and all that is cleaved is not lost<br /> The sword reforged will not linger<br /> but burn in the battle with lust<br /> <br /> The wizard is mighty and fearless indeed<br /> he uses no saddle when he rides his steed<br /> Biter the orcs named the blade that he wield<br /> his staff shines with blinding light when he's in need<br /> <br /> The elf is so fair and light footed<br /> his eyes could pierce the darkest cloud<br /> His bow and its arrows are sacred<br /> they whistle through air fast and loud<br /> <br /> The dwarf burns with anger and fury<br /> his axe swings at orcs broad and cold.<br /> When he blew the horn in Helmsdeep<br /> they could hear him at Westfold.<br /> <br /> The Halflings have little desire or greed<br /> but would kill for some food and some southfarthing weed<br /> They are not much as fighters though fight good in need<br /> and love growing things and use much time to seed<br /> <br /> The man comes from Gondor&rsquo;s white city<br /> where trumpets of silver are blown<br /> He's valiant brave and goodhearted<br /> but the ring has a will of its own</p>
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