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A weary pilgrim cloaked and robed in grey,
He leaned upon a thorny wooden staff.
His hair was white, his eyes as bright as day;
As swift in anger as he was to laugh.
His beard was long, his face was lined with care,
And his back bent by burdens on his heart;
Responsibility lay heavy there,
For in the war he played a crucial part.
As champion of goodness him we hail,
To evil powers he brought dreadful woe;
For though he seemed to be a human frail,
His true powerful nature now we know.
His sacrifice and love have passed the test,
Olórin is his name in the true West.
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