The Sad Tale of Boromir


Long, long ago,

In the land of Middle-Earth,

A man by the name of Boromir

Did indeed go

On a perilous journey to

Cast the One Ring into Mount Doom

And vanquish the Dark Lord Sauron

As part of a 9-member crew.

And so this Fellowship of the Ring

Of men, hobbits, a dwarf, an elf and a wizard

Set forth from Rivendell

With high hopes like spring.


Alas! Poor Boromir! Poor lad!

His tale is quite sad,

For the Ring is a tempting thing

And danger came following.


It was near the Anduin

That Boromir succumbed to temptation

And tried to steal the ring

From Frodo when he did not listen

At Boromir's request to have it.

Thus, Frodo fled

And Boromir realized

The terrible sin he did commit.

While searching for their missing comrade,

Uruk-hai came upon Boromir's party of three,

And in his attempt to protect Merry and Pippin,

Boromir was slain, the poor lad!


Or so Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas thought

As they arrived at the scene distraught.

"Farewell, Aragorn. Go to Minas Tirith to save my people. I have failed," Boromir said

And collapsed like the dead.


But he was alive, alive!

When they sent him down the river,

Singing a lament for his "passing."

Poor, poor Boromir, what a surprise

To find himself afloat a raft

Amid the wracking pain of arrow wounds

And the distant roar of the Falls of Rauros.

His friends were oh so daft

To send a companion to his death;

Oh, his tale is so terribly sad!

Alas! Poor Boromir! Poor lad!

Was cursing and screaming to his very last breath.