A tale long ago was told,
Of many things forgotten of old.
Nenya shone with the light of the sky,
And Narya sparkled with the brilliant light of a world gone by.
But none were as powerful as the one,
That burned with the deceit of a million suns.
Sauron himself had forged this ring,
To carry out his terrible dream.
But alas, his plan was stayed,
For in Anduin the Ring was laid.
After more than a century went by,
It was found by a hobbit too cunning to die.
After his usual life in the shire was ended,
To his nephew Frodo it was handed.
But when Frodo learned of all it bode,
To Mordor he went to destroy it's hold.
With him went eight others,
Who travels as a band of brothers.
Legolas the valiant elf,
Who could shoot an arrow above the delf.
Gimli the mighty dwarf,
Who sailed beyond many a wharf.
Aragorn the daring Ranger,
Who at first was but a mysterious stranger.
Boromir, a prince of men,
Who died before his would-be end.
A hobbit, Frodo's servant,
Named Sam who his master loveth.
Along as well were Merry and Pippin,
Who, for hobbits, gave a mighty whippin'.
And most importantly Gandalf, a wizard tall and fair,
At first the grey, then the white, as his hair.
But of all the companions Frodo alone bore the Ring,
That was laid upon him, a terrible thing.
Many things came to pass,
But none more courageous than the very last.
For alone Frodo and Sam unmade this Ring,
The rejoicing of Middle-earth with which they did bring.
