No one told him that the fire in its burning would be raging
And the armies of the world in their battles were engaging;
That the smoke would soon be rising, and rivers would run red
With the blood of all the soldiers that lay on the field and dead.
No one told him then to take it, but he took it all the same:
Took the dreaded Ring to Mordor, to the shadow and the flame.
Yes, they told him that he carried all the world in his hands,
The present, past, and future peace of every war-torn land.
But though he listened gravely, and tried hard to do his best,
Did he know when it was over that he never would find rest?
He knew his task and fought to keep it first within his mind,
But even with the knowledge- he could see, and yet was blind.
He may have guessed the trials and the troubles he would face,
He may have known the memory would never be erased.
But did know that memory would stay so sharp and clear
So that he never missed its face, from year to endless year?
He may have known the magnitude of “I will take the Ring,”
But did he really understand what five small words would bring?
No one told him that the fire in its burning would be raging,
Or that he himself would face it, in its reddish glow enslaving,
And he may have guessed the miles, or maybe calculate the days,
But did he know how long they’d seem: a moment– like an age?
No one told him then to take it, but he took it all the same,
Took the dreaded Ring to Mordor, through the shadow and the flame.