A gift has come to me at last,
Beyond my hopes, it seems,
As lying in the embers, lo,
Tidings of its greatness gleams.
Passing through the door at last,
Aged not within the years,
The stories of its wretched past
Falls dead upon my ears.
I know the death which lies within,
The circled golden Shadow,
And yet my fears can not equate,
To see far into the gallows,
That loom within my future, surely
In possession of such a thing;
For but death inspires the will,
Of the One, the Bane, the Ring.
And damn Isildur, too wrought with greed,
To cast it in Mount Doom?s fire
And bless his heir, bless his seed,
King Aragorn, the sire.
Who fought against greedy men,
Of ages long before
Who wore upon their hand and breast,
The rings long lost in lore.
But late was the coming
Of torch, sword, fire,
And the wound now long seized,
The young sir of the Shire.
And the dark gripped the master,
And all hope was lost,
Writhing in pain,
By the piercing as cost.
But young Elven fair,
Bares him on her steed,
And crosses the river,
Taking wrath out of need.
And to a friendly place he's waken,
In the morning sunlight's cast,
To be among his kin again,
In Rivendell! At last!

I feel it heavy in my chest,
Within my pocket,
At its rest.
And stand before the stony square,
And fight to put the ring down there.
And while the desire within rebels,
My will, my strength, at last prevails,
And I place it on the stony flat,
And feel a relief as my hand draws back.
And all around lean forth to see,
The burden, at last, gone from me.
And words pour out of Man who says,
"It is a gift," at thoughts in his head.
And all around think above their dread.
Of bearing the ring on their own hand.
And but a few's dread prevails,
And wisdom comes to tell the tale.
But now there comes the task at hand,
Who shall take the Ring? And all do stand
And deem their right to bear its will,
But I, looking, at it still,
To see it smile at the fight
To feel it growing in the spite.
At last, I stand and take the Thing,
And come at last to bear the Ring.
And the Men, Elves, all stand by my side,
Hoping to have the Ring in time,
But throwing such thoughts at once away,
And bid to help me find my way.
And about my neck, the chain is bound,
And we take off from Rivendell.
The Fellowship, so cold, so somber,
To face the dread of Mount Doom's ember!

The Fellowship, departs at last,
And comes upon the rocky pass.
And at first there seems among them peace,
As they sit together, all at ease.
And friendships form, among the mass
Though thoughts of Treasure, do not pass.
And while the Halfling does not say,
Of the burden which starts to weigh,
They see it stony, 'bout his neck,
His hand so constant; reach and check.
But no one says the thoughts that seethe,
Within their minds, the pains still reeks
Havoc on their trouble hearts,
As they think of their dreadful part
Fulfilled to but reach out their hand
And wield their terror on the Land.
But they smile, happy, at each other,
While hoping that their greed will smother.
And then the birds flock overhead,
And the rocky pass, becomes their dread,
For now the eye is upon,
Their every play, action. Pawns
Within his evil plan,
For but him to move 'bout with his hand.
And so the wisest comes to say,
The Pass of Caradhras, 'less death does sway.

Scaling up the moutainside,
Faced against the wind.
They struggle 'gainst the blowing tide,
But at the top, what then?
And as they all climb all the higher,
The stronger weather hits,
And blown back by the deathly air,
A chance It will not miss.
And It slips off from 'bout
The Halfling's neck,
And lands upon the snow.
And gleams up at the stronger ones,
With It's deceptive glow.
And he looks at he who reaches out,
And takes it in his hand.
And knows for sure the end has come
As it is held by Man.
But swelling within his lovely heart
He's forced to act out rash,
And lunges out at the Man,
To take his Only back.
And they journey up the mountain side,
Continue to fight the wind.
But they all still think of the dreadful scene,
And when Man will be them.
But they never know,
For in that time,
There reaches through Elven ears,
A fell voice upon the air,
Whom now all and he hears.
And the wisest of the lot of them,
Warns them of the plan,
And soon the snow comes crashing down,
To bury beneath it's hand.
And they know that this way to,
Is one they must not tread.
And so the Halfling tells to all,
'To Moria where we head!'

And so we come,
To lands of old,
Where little life,
There's to behold.
And we sit around a glowing script,
Above the door,
Into the crypt.
And wait while Wisest sits and thinks
What now is the next link
To unlock the door and speak
The answer until in we creak.
And as he ponders our entrance way,
The Halfling bearer comes to say
'Tis a riddle, now lead the way!'
And the wisest speaks the password then,
And the Fellowship creeps on in,
On top of bones, on top of others,
Upon the stone floor, and covers
All the way on through the caves,
As though not a life's been saved.
And they turn around to enter not,
And find their pathway, hence now blocked,
By a monster, grabbing the Halfling, thus
They are forced to fight, they must.
And while the Monster flails and fights,
They find the caves their way of flight,
And now no option can they make,
And venture further through, and stake
Upon their venture all their will,
All their hope, and yet still,
Dream about the small one's neck,
Another path they can't forget.
But journey further through the mines,
And find the tomb of dweller Dwarf's kind.
And enter, but find a great mistake,
In a small one's causing quake.
And here about them orcish cry,
And prepare to battle, as Man does cry,
'We're doomed, I see it out there, way
Behind them they bring a monster chained!'
And they all prepare to fight,
Or in the battle, fall and die.
And in come orcs. And monster, too,
And while many orcs they slew,
There remains the Halfling, chased by beast,
And as he slays him, they are pleased,
Though they cry in their despair,
To see the Halfling falling there,
And all do now come and spring in fight,
Taking down the massive might,
And yet there friend lays pierced to die.
And the Faithful still let out their cry,
To find him living, still, at last,
And others find their hopes to pass,
Replaced by something fresh, and deemed,
The true task of their lives, it seems.
Not to bear the ring, but too,
Defend endless, and to rue
Each thought they have to wear the thing,
And use the power of the Ring.
And they carry on, now, now through the maze,
Of pillars wrought on through the caves,
Until they hear, and draw to sight,
A scene but good within the light,
And stand surrounded, until relief, they say,
Comes to bear them, give them way.
But the wisest is felt with dread,
And knows worse things now lie ahead.
And they dash ahead, now in a haze
Born by want to leave the caves.
And all around them arrows fall,
As orcs shoot at them from the walls.
And now to stairs they come in flight,
And find they must not stop to fight,
As stone does topple,
And staircase falls,
And they hurry on by but the call,
Of their duty, of the mind,
Right now in their desperate time.
But when they reach their safety last,
The worst has still now yet to pass.
And the one who has thus led the way,
Turns around to demon, stays
Upon the bridge, where he's to cross,
And says to him, 'You shall not pass!'
And strikes his staff against the stone,
And conquers the beast, on his own.
And as he turns on to them at last.
He fills a whip fall on his back,
And is dragged below into the Hell,
Where this creature below him dwells.
And all above cry at his rules,
Yelling to them, 'Fly! You fools!'
And as they run out into light,
And escape from the raging fight,
That stagger out onto the land,
And fall on knees, unable to stand.
But the Strongest calls them on.
'To Gondor, now! To Gondor! On!'

On the river,
Long and wide,
Sailing with the water's tide,
And 'round the bend
They gasp in pride
To see great Men
No lost in time.
Standing tall against the wind,
Calling arms of foe and friend.
And where the river to falls departs,
They cross to shore and follow chart
On through the rocky lands below,
On through the swamps and forests 'lo.
But making camp with plans thus made,
The Halfling recalls Isildur's bane,
Strapped heavily about his neck,
Wrenching there, and forcing checks.
And he feels its will now hit its peak,
To loosen 'bout his neck and sneak
Into the hands of Man, and thus,
Bring down the world to shadow, dust.
And Man comes close, with wild eyes,
And begs of him for but a try
Of bending will of Ring there way,
But how he will he can not say.
And then he tries to take the Ring,
And the Halfling then puts on the Thing,
To escape his grasp, but's nearer to
The Eye that he has come to rue
In haunting sleep, and breaking day
By sinking sun in clouds thick way.
And he's safe from Man, but new foes find,
There camp, his friends, his own Allis.
And so he runs, knowing that
He must escape the fierce combat.
And Man wakes from the Rings set trance
To find foes thick about the land.
He sees the small, and draws his sword,
And let's loose his desperate, failing horn.
And fights to save the small ones still,
As he is struck, to deathly chill.
And falls to ground, upon his knees,
Small ones taken by the beasts.
And feels his own life drift away,
And pride can hence no longer stay.
And he knows the Ring has brought his fall,
And the small ones taken despite all
His efforts, fighting, dying to
To save them from these beasts, who
Will take them as a gift to He
Who the Fellowship must now defeat.
And the Strongest comes upon the scene,
And find his friend
sink from his knees,
Onto the Ground, and knows at last,
The Fellowship has failed its task.

They look out at the lonely form,
Now sailing with the wind
And sing a song to the Man
To wish more life to him.
And they turn back from the fighters grave
Set out upon the waters
And wonder if he'll make his way
To the land, the home of his father's.
But now set out on their minor quest
So noble in its way.
For though the world to them is doomed,
They have the small ones left to save.
So the Strongest finds their hidden trail
Amongst the Orcish path.
And both the Fair and Stout of Heart
Follow him 'cross the land.
And know before the task is done
They shall lend both bow and axe.
And they set off,
Without a hope
To scale the mountains high
And pray for but the smallest ones
That they might still be alive.

The small swords cut
Through tidal wave
Of fiendish drive
And still they slay
The foe as best they can
Whether severing foot, or only hand.
But even in with these minor wounds
They grab the small ones, and further choose
To take them breathing cross the plains
And through the woods, and all the same,
To bring them to the ?saken land,
Of death and lifeless, all but bland.
To Mordor, they set the path
And know they?ll make, for but a chance.
And chance there is, for in their start,
The small ones still do not lose heart.
And the Youngest tears from ?bout his breast
The treasured leaves that were the clasp.
And he bids them off,
With but a prayer
That the Three shall find them there.

The Halfling trails behind his Friend
A wound now growing, to never mend
Upon his chest, within his mind
A desire never left behind.
And a voice now follows, him and Friend
Trailing them with whispered whims,
'It is mine! They stole it from us!'
In his desperate, gasping, feared chorus
Of thoughts within his twisted mind
Brought by scarring, twisting time
With bearing the unscrupulous Thing.
The ever warping, maddened Ring.
And they travel over hill and stream,
In a quickly, ever-ending dream,
As over hillside, and grasses here
They see looming Mount Doom's drear.
But a fog soon blankets them about
And down is now their only way out.
And so Halfling drops down the cliff
And feels the Ring-wraith's icy grip.
And feels a tap at his shoulder
And no longer feels quite the colder.
And climbs the elven rope on up
Until he's with his Friend on top.
And when fog breaks and day dawns again
The travel down the cliffside's end.
And reach the bottom of the face
And call the rope back from its place.
And know that It can not follow
Down the hillside, to the hollow.
Until the night when they see,
The ghastly Creature down mountain creep.
And feel him drawing ever near,
The Halfling now gripped with fear.
But not for him, or Friend, but Thing,
It will try to take his precious Ring.
But they know that running will not succeed.
They must capture him with the Thing.
So they lie in wait, until, at last,
They time has come to spring their trap.
And they capture now the dreadful Him
And tie him up onto a limb.
And he pleads and cries with rope about
His neck until at last he's out.
To lead the way to Black Gate,
And thus determine Master's fate.

The footsteps drear more the on
As they pass on through the open dawn.
And pray that those they must now trace
Do not wander in the day.
But, alas, it is not so,
And they forever on and slow.
But the Strongest finds the fallen leaves
And takes heart in discovery.
For small ones might yet still live
And have some life still left to give.
And so they carry on their wretched way
And find a coming by the day,
Surprising to all them alike
And Man comes up to them in stride.
And's greeted by the tips of spears
And wonder at these new found fears.
And the Riders look down on the lot
And talk of death, and further plot
To kill them all, and thus resume
Their path of killing, and only doom.
But arrow points to Riders throat,
And Elf now finds an end to gloat
Of Rider and thus stop delay.
And let them continue on their way.
But Strongest points his arrow down,
So harmlessly aimed onto the ground,
And tells them bits of their own tale
And hopes that kindness will prevail.
But he hears instead of terrible end
That has come onto his small friends.
The small ones it seems, are dead at last,
As the Riders over, passed.
And the disheartened Rider calls away
From the pack, to help them stray
Further through the troubled lands
Horses to help them, as they can.
And so they mount, and ride on, to
The place where small ones met their doom.

They feel their feet now dragging slow,
But dare not stop to rest, or woe
Shall be their troubled ends
Without a fight, or some defense.
And the drink burns fiery in their veins
And they long to sit down and cut their reigns
But continue to wander on, they know
That to death is what would come their slow.
But at last they stop their painful march
And lay back, dreaming of their part
From the awful horde of viscous beasts,
And they hear of desired feast
As the orcs now battle among each other
And fight for not bread, or greens, or water
But for meat that they might feed
And find the strength, not from mere leaves.
But the others know the given commands
And refuse to let the others lay hands,
On the small ones, but just in case,
They leave the small ones their due space.
So they now find chance to come together,
And tell their plans to one another.
When they hear the sound of fight
And hope that now they may take flight.
And Smallest now holds up his chains,
Severed from his bloody hands.
And helps the other one break free
To aid them in their drastic flee.
And as they begin to crawl away
They feel that something's in their way.
And the massive Orc now grabs their feet,
And paws at them so desperately
For hope of finding something there
And they know it, gripped with fear.
And as he snarls for to the night
He is found by those who fight
And with a whisper through the air,
An arrow finds him lying there.
And small ones find their way on to
A place that they might sit and chew
On thoughts that wandered through their minds
During the awful, dragging times.
And they eat their Elven bread for strength
And find it at some costly length.
And now they begin to walk on toward
The looming, dooming, dark Fangorn.