He saw the hosts pour forth in Morgul Vale.
Their Captain had upon his head a crest;
Black-robed he was, and greater than the rest.
Now Frodo greatly feared the Quest would fail
If Sauron ever should his friends assail.
The Morgul hosts were surely marching West;
Would Faramir do well what he felt was best?
What was the use of pressing on down the trail?
Why journey on if none will ever know?
At length he rose and knew what he must do:
To carry on-whatever comes his way-
Into the Fire the Dark Lord's Ring to throw.
He must depart tonight and follow through,
E'en if no tale is written of this day.
A/N: I was reading The Two Towers when I stumbled across a passage that *almost* made me cry. It inspired me to put what I felt into poetry; after all, many people, myself included, feel that poetry is an outpouring of emotion. Hope you liked it! Please review! :)