The Nine Riders - A poem

The nine in black, they're riding, seeking,
Voices hissing, armour creeking,
Faces dark, fell bodies creeping,
'Neith their master's eye.

For the name of Baggins asking,
Speed and power ever waxing,
Evil lingers in their passing,
Riding swiftly by.

Ever drawn toward the one ring,
Through them flows their master's hungering.
Sauron, of his precious wondering,
Deep in Mordor's walls.

Long ago in his dark tower,
Sauron wrought the ring of power.
Forward on from that dark hour,
One ring ruled them all.

One ring for the dark lord's dark hand,
Three are hidden in the elf-land.
Seven smolder under dwarf brands,
Nine for mortal kings.

Mortal men cannot be trusted,
Not with hearts so stained and rusted.
Soon their souls grew dark and crusted,
Tainted by the rings.

Wraiths are they who once were living,
Sauron their allegiance giving,
Strength an spirit sapped by his ring,
Now in shadow dwell.

Now in shadow ride unceasing,
For the halfings always seeking,
Even still their strenth increasing,
Creatures dark and fell.

The Nazgul they are called.

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