The tale I tell, long was it sung,
In widespread lands, on many a tongue.
Long ago it was foretold,
That one would come the kings of old.
A man that was born from the Lords of the West.
A sword at his side, a on his breast.
In exile he served as his forefathers had.
Rumors were wrought, they said he was mad.
They dubbed him a name for the length of his gait.
And no home he had with a loved one to wait.
Many a time he would travel alone.
Never he remained with one that would drone.
But, on rare occasion a companion would join,
The son of an enemy of the dwarf, Gloin.
An elleth he was, clear was his gaze,
If ever he slept it was but in a daze.
Adventures they had on many a clear day,
That led to a moment as the man showed the way.
A trail he followed of creatures so dark.
No animal stirred no song of a lark.
A trio they were: elf, dwarf, and man,
Traveling swiftly across Rohan.
But, in a bright future the Shadow is gone.
And destroyed is Doom's fires, at last a dawn!
The White Tree is standing again tall and proud.
And a king is crowned before a great crowd.