A poem about when the four hobbits met Aragorn

------------------------------------

Long has the sword reamined broken,

but now from the east has awoken,

a long forgotten foe,

a shawdow of of black to fill the world with woe.

A Halfling arises from the shire,

when the earths need becomes dire.

He takes on the the task of guarding a ring,

whilst from the far west travels an unwilling king.

In a small inn, in a small town,

the Halfings stopped to lay their heads down,

it was then their paths cross,

Aragorn, Ranger of the west, became their boss.

Yet through all of their efforts to remain unseen,

the great eye remained ever keen,

Weathertop was the was the place the wraiths tried to take hold,

but our our hobbits and ranger stayed ever bold.

Even though their hearts were stout and minds set,

this great battle was not won yet,

unfortunatly more like lost if you will,

the hobbits knew as they saw Frodo lay still.

I wish I could tell you how our story ended,

and I wish I could tell you that all hurts mended,

but the truth my friend is never certain,

except for the fall of the final curtain.