A new, old project. | Rosie's Ramblings

A new, old project.



Okay, I'll talk about that in a second, but first, how cute is this shirt? I love it soooo much, but it's not nursing accessible, and I'm kinda all about that these days ;) Anyway, it's for sale over in the Shop.


So, my new/old project.... I have always been a huge fan of The Lord of The Rings, even way back before the movies came out and made them oh, so popular.

In 2005 I decided to take a year, and once a month write a poem based on a an event, place, or character in Lord of The Rings (this was back when I was writing a lot. Poetry in particular).
I ended up writing way more than just twelve poems, and I completed my goal of finishing them all in one year.


And I had a blast doing it.

Just recently I took the time to re-write all of this out, since it was handwritten, in a book, completed with illustrations.
After each poem there is a short description, explaining a bit about it, and what inspired me.
I hope you enjoy reading them, as much as I enjoyed writing!

The Dance Of The Ring.
A Collection of Lord Of The Rings Poetry.
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The Song Of Tom Bombadil.

His name was Tom Bombadil, and he lived in a wood.
He wished no one evil, and he did only good.
He smiled and laughed the whole day away,
As a child does at it's play.

He welcomed the hobbits, with song and tale,
He filled them up on bread and ale.
And they told him of the Ring,
and It's tale of old.
Then Tom asked to see the band of gold.

He took, chuckled, and twisted it on,
But he didn't vanish. He wasn't gone. 
For to make is easy, and say it plain,
To make it simple, and explain...

He was Tom Bombadil, of the wood,
He wished no one evil, he did only good. 
They wished they could leave it with Tom that day,
 And go off on their merry way.

Later they found why it couldn't be done,
Why the battle of the Ring wouldn't be won.
It was Erestor the elf, who asked it with hope,
And t'was Gandalf who answered and spoke.

He began, saying, "No, it would not do,
Pleasant as the plan sounds to you,
Tom wouldn't realize It's value, or worth,
For he comes from the sky, and the earth.

"It has no power over him, 'tis true,
But he would forget, or lose it, I rue.
And the Dark Lord's hunting would still go on,
Then that would be the end of Tom's Song.

"Sauron would find that peaceful wood,
And it would end all that's good.
'So,' said Gandalf, 'it's good after all,
that the ring into Tom's hand, didn't fall."

This was the first poem that I wrote. I was always interested in how Tom was the only character in LOTR to hold the Ring and remain unaffected by it. 
Although at first I found those chapters (with Tom Bombadil) a little less exciting than the other ones, after reading more about Tom I realized that this was yet another interesting side story in LOTR.
Nov. 2005

Eowyn's Tale.

Shieldmaiden, royal and fair,
Only battle songs stirred her heart.
She killed the fell beast, of the air,
and in the death of, it's master took part.

"I am no man, but woman!" spoke she,
"And I will slay ye, yea, even now,
Ye have slain my king, but shan't slay me,
To THEE my people will never bow!"

She raised her arm, and struck him dead,
And the Nazgul lord was forever gone.
She also, thought they, as she lay on her bad,
Sorely sick, and troubled long.

Yet healing came, in her hour of need,
And well, and strong she grew.
But still, inside her heart did bleed,
And she longed for life, pure, and true.

Then words were told her, plain and bold,
 And she listened, with an open heart,
She softened, and no more was cold,
No more desired to play a part.

She wished no more for battle and war,
But simply wanted peace, 
No more was staying back a chore,
So her heart was put to ease.

So came she to love to heal.
And be a wife of strength and grace.
For she found that often, what is real,
Is not found in life's swift pace.

For though one my have power,
and praise and honor is rained,
If it is not their right calling, or hour,
What matter all they have gained?

So Eowyn found her heart's true desire,
And he heart and mind were eased,
No longer did they burn with fire,
The Shieldmaiden was at last, at peace.

The White Lady of Rohan is one of my very favorite characters in LOTR. Her own battle against evil, her desire to go to battle, and finally being won over to peace and happiness by her love for Faramir was a wonderful story. 
In this poem she is at the battle of Pelennor Fields, where she kills the Nazgul Lord, after which she is taken to the house of Healing. The words spoken to her are by the Lord Faramir.
Nov. 2005

The Power Of The Ring

There It sits on my hand,
What power is in this thing.
This simple, small gold band,
It is the One Ruling Ring.

What a power It does wield,
None can resist It's call.
To It all soon give way, soon yield,
And under It's black spell fall.

Well, here I stand with It,
I tried so hard to not give way,
I want to throw It into that pit,
But I have given into It's sway.

It's power is over me, yes, it's true,
I resisted as long as I could.
But the more I bore It, the stronger It grew,
I now can't do what I know I should.

Oh, if one were me, and could feel what I feel,
They would understand why,
To the Ring I will bow and kneel.
Because without It I would die.

It's calling and I must obey.
I cannot give It up, cannot let it go.
It's pull is so strong, I can't say nay,
The Ring of power. Ring of woe.

Yet still, I tarry, still, I hesitate.
It bids me hurry, and not linger,
It tells me that I must not wait,
And so, I slip it on my finger.

I have put It on, I have given in,
The Ring is mine, the realization hits,
But I know I didn't really win,
For though the Ring is mine, I am It's.

I hate It, and I love It,
It brings peace and yet despair.
I'm in the sky, yet in a pit,
The Ring is foul, yet so fair.

It's mine, It's hold is now on me,
At It's power none should scoff,
Yet this cannot truly be.
I'd give anything to have it off!

Sam (my brother, and LOTR fan) and I have always wished that Frodo's struggle at Mount Doom was shown from his perspective. When I started writing DOTR, Sam said, "make sure you write a poem from Frodo's point of view!". So, here it is.
Nov. 2005

Rivendell, Deep Dale of the Cleft.

Rivendell, the home of Elves,
Full of beauty and peace it wells.
Dwelling of Elrond, Elf Lord wise,
Wisdom and healing are in his eyes.

Yet how long can peace remain,
While the Dark Lord Sauron reigns?
Will his hand not reach this far,
To the fairest land under the stars?

The time of Elves is gone,
They must leave to the great beyond. 
Why stay to face such a death,
As all know hangs upon his breath?

Sauron kills all in his path.
Long ago Elves incurred his wrath,
 And so why stay to such a fate?
Soon the time will be too late.

Nay, better to leave that fair land,
Then go under The Dark Lord's hand.
He tried once, long ago to deceive, 
But the Elves would not believe.

He used  the One Ring, his power to wield,
His plan to make them bend and yield.
But when he made his presence known,
The Elves would not be overthrown.

Narya, ring of fire, Vilya, right of air,
Neya, ring of water, they guarded them with care.
Three bands, each set with one small jewel,
Saved from the hands of Sauron the cruel.

They took their rings, and kept them safe,
And so became not his wraiths.
So the rings long were hid,
And by him could not be bid.

So came Sauron to glower and hate,
The Elves, and longed to make their fate,
One of horror, one of death,
Of living underneath his breath.

So the Elves in Rivendell stay?
No, it is best to go far away.
Take a ship, it is time to leave.
Go across the sea, and not grieve. 

The time of Elves is over, 
The time of Elves is gone.
They must soon all leave,
To the great beyond.

The Elves were the first creation, they were also the wisest, and failed to fall into Sauron's evil designs. For that reason, and others, he hated them. This poem tells the story of the trap Sauron made for them, with the three powerful rings that he made for Elves. Rivendell, translated, means Deep Dale of The Cleft.
Dec. 2005

Five Hundred Years.

Five Hundred years of dark lurking,
Five hundred years of pain.
Five hundred years with a power working,
Five hundred years all the same.

Five Hundred years It worked to his core,
Five hundred years his precious, his ring,
Five hundred years his ring he wore,
And five hundred years It did bring.

Five Hundred years he bore It,
Five hundred years It worked him through,
Five hundred years in a pit,
Five hundred years It grew.

Five Hundred years were his torment,
Five hundred years were his joy,
Five hundred years he was bent,
Five hundred years in It's ploy.

Five Hundred years of sorrow,
Five hundred years of pain,
Five hundred years of tomorrow,
Five hundred years all the same.

Five Hundred years in a cave,
Five hundred years he horded, 
Five hundred years a miserable knave,
Five hundred years the Ring ruled, and lorded.

Five Hundred years of this misery,
Five hundred years all alone.
Five hundred years, how could this be?
Five hundred years It worked to the bone.

Five Hundred years with it's gloom.
Five hundred years with it's stain.
Five hundred years with it's doom.
Five hundred years all in vain.

Gollum carried the Ring for five hundred years before It fell into Bilbo's hands. Frodo only carried It one year before he reached Mt. Doom and found he could not throw It in. I realized that Gollum was to be pitied. The pull of the Ring after carrying it for five hundred years must have been very, very powerful. 
Dec. 2005

The Cost Of Greed.

Khazad-dum, that hall of old,
Magnificent was it indeed, 
Therein the dwarves mined silver, and gold,
But mithral was what brought their greed.

That stunted folk, formed by Anule's hand,
Their greed brought their ruin,
Evilness overtook their land.
In the days of the dwarf lord Durin.

They delved for mithral, very deep,
In their mines they dug hard, and long.
The in did evilness begin to creep,
For they dug where they did not belong.

Khazad-dum. forsaken, and lost.
All that wherein, are now gone, or dead.
For their greed there was a heavy cost, 
Now the mines of Moria, a place of dread.

Khazad-dum, the halls of stone,
For it many dwarves grieve,
They do sigh and groan,
For it was a wonderful place, indeed.

This poem tells how Moria came to be. The dwarves were greedy and selfish, which is seen even in the beginning, in The Hobbit, with Thorien. The darkness which they uncovered was a Balrog, one long buried and forgotten, until they dug too deep, in their greed, and it overtook Moria. Making it a home only fit for orcs, and their kind.
Kahaza means dwarf (in their own tongue) and dum means hall, or palace. Thus, Kahaza-dum.
Jan. 2006

The Nine.

Nine rings for the mortal men,
Those proud kings of old.
Let the rings do what they can,
And turn their hearts to icy cold.

They will be neither living, nor dead,
Slaves, of a terrible dark lord,
By him they will be lead,
Him, always drawn toward.

His hand will always reach them,
They will work at his command,
The rings will bring their end-
Against their might they cannot stand.

They will have power great,
And yet, have none at all,
They will see their mistake too late,
And into Sauron's trap will fall.

He will deceive them,
Bend them to his will.
Wrap them in his evil lies,
Their minds warp,
Their conscience still.

They will be The Nine, the Nazgul,
Striking fear in every heart,
Of evil wickedness be full,
They will accomplish Sauron's goal.

And so the rings will bring their end,
Though they think that they are safe,
Under Sauron's hand they will bend,
And shall be known as his Ringwraiths.

The Ringwraiths have always been a great source of interest to me--those men dead, yet alive, masters, yet slaves. If I had to pick a favorite poem, this might be it. It's definitely among my top five.
Jan. 2006

Black Cloaks.

A rider in black, he breathes a name,
He's looking for a Baggins, says he.
None know from hence he came,
Or who the stranger may be.

A hooded figure in black,
A dark horse hard ridden,
They wish he would turn back. 
By whom is he bidden?

They are roaming in search of the Ring,
Their master is the Dark Lord,
To the Shire evil they bring.
To the Ring they are drawn toward.

They are the shadows of kings of old.
Fallen under Sauron's rule.
To get the prize they must cunning, bold,
Swift, and quick, and cruel.

For this mission they have taken on the form,
Of hooded strangers, cloaked in black,
Their presence is felt like an oncoming storm,
All that see them are taken aback.

This rider, so dark and so strange,
So shadowed over with gloom.
He speaks of a danger worth ridding,
Of evil and doom.

I wrote this right after The Nine. It is the people of The Shire wondering who the Ringwraiths are, and why they are there. They have seen little, or no evil up to this point, and though they don't know who/what the Nazgul are, they can sense the evil power that surrounds them.
Jan. 2006

Lothlorien.

It was a place of rest, the kind that's best,
The fellowship was tired and worn.
Gandalf was gone, all had went wrong,
Many dangers had they born.

Lorien was peace, the were set to ease,
There was nothing to fear.
There they could stay, 'til their pain went away.
The Lady of the Wood made it clear.

The Lady of the Wood, in high honor she stood,
Full of wisdom and power, was she.
For each had she an offer, a path easier, softer.
And of all there conquered only three.

To Frodo said she, "Come with me,
To the Mirror of Galadriel,
Look in and watch, but the water do not touch,
Just remain very still".

"What, give me the Ring? Alas, evil it would bring,
Instead of a Dark Lord, I'd be a queen of power,
I'd rule Middle earth, 'twould be a new birth,
A different day, a different hour.

The Ring I could take, all is at stake,
It could be mine.
It's power is great, my mind it berates,
All though stands still in time.

No, I will go to the West, I have passed the test.
It has used all my will.
But I will go, I have said no,
I will remain, Galadriel.

After the loss of Gandalf the company arrives at Lothlorien, one of the last safe places in Middle Earth, that is still free from Sauron's hand. Frodo, who was weary of his burden, and, realizing the power of Galadriel, offers the Ring to her. After a great struggle she refuses, and remains who she was meant to be, the Lady Galadriel.
Jan. 2006

The Rohirrim.

Riders of Rohan, what news bringest thee?
What news do you bring of The Mark?
Three weary friends are we,
So to our words hark.

We mean no ill or trouble here,
Our comrades have been caught,
They go to great peril, or death, we fear,
So in your lands for them we have sought.

To save them from great doom,
We have run both long and hard,
For they go to a place of evil and gloom,
They go to Saruman at Isengard.

We started from Rivendell, not long ago,
Six companions at the time had we.
One, in Moria fell, fighting evil foe,
Another also dead, he sadly be.

Two more went off on a dark mission,
The other two we follow, as you know.
So now, we plead, if you listened,
Though your lands please let us go.

This standing here in Gimli, Gloin's son,
And Legolas Greenleaf be at his side.
Together far we have run,
For we have no horse on which to ride.

And I, if you must know, so you shall,
For I am one from Isulduir's line,
I ma Aragorn, fostered in Rivendell,
Coming back to take the throne that's mine.

By this sword you know my claim be true,
For all know the legend of old,
How, when trumpets of the Last Alliance blew,
It cut from Sauron's hand the Ring of gold.

Now, back to the purpose we must go,
Of our friends have you any tidings?
For Orcs are to all an evil for,
Where good is, evil cannot be abiding.

What, all caught and slain!
Of  this you are quite sure?
Where have the dead been lain,
For small and quick they were.

Perhaps in your haste they were overlooked,
And eve now are free,
After all, they are a Brandybuck, and a Took,
And rather sly, and wily both be.

But, if not, their bodies we find,
To bury in decent way.
For both were good, and kind,
Our dear and loyal friends they be.

Riders of Rohan, we hope to meet again,
For 'tis ill at odds to be,
Thee we wish to count as friends,
We lone travelers, three.

This is one of my longest poems, and it covers the story of Aragon, Legolas, and Gimli, as they follow the orc band that has taken Pippen and Merry captive. They meet The Rohirrim (Horselords) of Rohan. Aragon talks with them, and tells their story. When leaving he says he hopes to meet them again, and on friendly terms.
Jan.2006

You Bow To No One.

My friends, to no one bow a knee,
After all you have done,
You have set all Middle Earth free.
My Friends, you bow to no one.

You have given all you have, and yet more,
Your praise long shall be sung,
your valor has won the war.
My friends, you bow to no one.

Wherever you story shall be told,
All shall be amazed and stunned,
It's telling shall never grow old,
My friends, you bow to no one.

You did not flee, in cowardly way,
When danger had begun,
So stay your bended knees,
My friends, you bow to no one.

You four, never bend to me,
You this war have won,
And for that, I bend my knee,
For you bow to no one.

In the movie version of LOTR the ranger Aragon, now crowned king, bows to the four hobbits, for he realizes that all he has is because of them. To me this is a perfect summery of of the whole story of love, sacrifice, and honor in LOTR. This poem is written from Aragon's perspective. as he talks to the four hobbits.
Feb 2006

Ride With Me!

They were trapped, at the walls evil lapped.
Helms Deep was taken at last.
A fortress invincible, had been conceivable,
But now were all thoughts of the past.

"Guard the gate,", it's now too late,
"Keep to the walls",
No, 'tis a lie, herein all will die,
They are but empty calls.

Here we are, death is not far,
At least it will be a noble death.
Ride with me, mighty we'll be,
Before we draw our last breath.

Rise with me, and they shall see,
How men of Rohan die.
They do not shake, nor their hearts quake,
When thought of death comes nigh.

We will be brave as lions, strong as iron,
Our blows heavily will fall,
Out we will ride, not like rabbits hide,
Come, answer to my call!

It is a new morn, many hardships we've born,
But let our last battle cry be,
So that forever they'll be haunted, by our cry so undaunted,
Come, ride with me! 

When trapped inside the walls of Helm's Deep, the King Theoden tells his men to ride with him in one last burst upon the enemy. This is another favorite poem, that I really enjoyed writing.
Feb. 2006

Friendship, A Bond Between Friends.

It is now competed, done.
The battles of the Ring is now won.
With the aid of many a companion and friend,
My mission is now at it's end.

It took much longer than I had first thought,
To bring to the fire, where it was first wrought.
I have given is my best,
And now I can rest.

But I could not have done it,
Without the hope that was lit,
By me faithful Sam Gamgee,
Who though thick and thin stuck by me.

When with my burden I was bent,
He a helping hand lent.
Sam, a gardener was he,
A warrior never meant to be.

Still, he fought in his own way.
And, as he would often say,
"Master Frodo, never give in,
One day, sooner of later we'll win.

"And when, on that day we do,
I'll be there to congratulate you.
If we don't win in the end,
If under Sauron's hand all bends,

"If Middle Earth is no longer free,
I'll still be beside you, plain old Sam Gamgee".
And to his word he was good,
He did just as he said he would.

Friendship is a wondrous thing,
Courage and hope it brings.
And though I made it to the end,
I could not have done it without my friend.

The friendship between Frodo Baggins and Sam Gamgee was very strong. The destruction of the Ring could have not have been completed if the two had not done it together. Frodo couldn't have done it without Sam's encouragement, and Sam would never have been able to carry the Ring for as long as Frodo did.
Feb. 2006

Black Land

Mordor, land of evil and woe,
Therein none dared to go,
Of all the entered few return,
"twas guarded by a light that burns.

Yet two brave hobbits entered there,
Into Sauron's very lair.
All doubted that they'd be back,
Sauron soon'd be on their track.

But return they did, after peril great,
After bringing Mordor to it's present state.
A ruined land, crushed and torn,
Emptied, and forlorn.

Into Sauron's very lair,
They went with a burden of great care,
And they ruined Mordor, the story goes,
Under Sauron's very nose.

But this take is told elsewhere,
How the hobbits entered there.
How they brought Mordor to it's doom.
A destroyed land, a tomb.

Mordor is gone, with it, it's Dark Lord.
Also, his fearsome army hoard.
Peace now, has many a land,
Freed now from Sauron's hand.

The fight was long, and hard.
Mush from Sauron's hand was marred.
But now there is peace at last,
Now Mordor is a thing of the past.

This is a short poem I wrote that tells the story of Frodo and Sam's journey into Mordor, and how it was destroyed. Mordor, translated, means "black land".
March 2006

Weathertop.

Five shadows looming in the gloom,
A hilltop, old and worn.
Four hobbits waiting to meet their doom,
Standing hopeless and forlorn.

Five shadows with one thought in mind,
All on one same quest.
One Ruling Ring to find,
They are giving it their best.

They are now closing 'round,
Their search was long and hard,
The Five their Ring have sought,
And their power waxes strong.

Frodo starts to back away,
He feels their surging power,
He begins to give way,
And in his fear he cowers.

He feels the Ruling Ring. 
They want It, but he holds It tight.
He hates that fearsome thing,
But It's power is at It's might.
Five shadows moving in,
With each step nearer.
They have one goal in mind,
Take the Ring, and kill It's bearer.

Weathertop is where Frodo had his first encounter with the Ringwraithes, and was stabbed by a Nazgul King. Aragon also proves himself true to the Ring, and his quest, here.
April, 2006

Nine, Seven, Three, One.

Nine rings for nine powerful kings,
To add to their majestic hoard.
Seven, simple, small rings,
Given to seven dwarf lords.

Three bands for the Elven kings,
And thus the trap was set.
So then was made a master ring,
And then was closed the net.

A trap long plotted and planned.
From days ago, to present day.
Against all pride and strength couldn't stand,
The rings and their powerful sway.

The Elves, in their wisdom, fled,
They resisted the Ring and It's call.
They feared to follow where It led,
And for that, the Dark Lord hated them all.

The dwarf lords cared little for wisdom or wealth,
And so, though blindly, entered the trap.
But the rings did their work, with quiet stealth,
Around the mortal men their power wrapped.

The nine for the nine powerful kings.
Strength and honor would fail.
Against the greed fed by the nine rings,
And thus, was made a sad tale.

To be matched against such a foe,
One with such powerful might.
His ruthless cunning few would know,
And so would give in without fight.

This is my own version of J.R.R Tolkien's poem, "Three Rings For The Elven Kings". Although I wrote mine BEFORE I read his. This poem tells the story of the rings that Sauron made, and what happened to them.
May, 2006

The Ballad Of Gondor.

Of't are such stories told,
Of battles fought and won.
Of men both brave and bold,
And wondrous deeds that were done.

But few have heard aught,
Of a battle so noble and great,
As the one the in Gondor was fought,
Against all that breathes evil and hate.

Many on that great day were there.
Men mighty and fearsome with sword.
Elves, of whom one should beware.
Their anger needing no word.

Theoden, High King of Rohan,
He came to Gondor's aid,
Even though chance of victory was dim,
His call to honor, he obeyed.

Also, fought there Aragon, of the Dunedain.
His fighting frightful in it's power,
A coming back to take reign.
It was a fearsome day and hour.

There joined him in his fighting, Eomre,
They fought side by side with skill,
Through battle think they tore,
Filled with strength of will.

And the White Lady, Eowyn,
She fought on the fateful day.
In disguise she fought beside her kin,
And down the Nazgul lord did lay.

Merry the Hafling did brave deeds,
That were long sung and told,
How the battle would not have lead, where it leads,
Without him being so brave and so bold.

And what of the ruler of Gondor, Denethor?
He was caught in a wicked ploy.
Sauron a hole through him did bore,
And in the end did him destroy.

Lord Faramir, he bravely fought,
Though his heart was filled with grief.
Of danger he paid no thought, 
A truly noble lord and chief.

Gimli, dwarf, and Legolas, elf,
They fought with sword and bow,
They fought heedless of self,
And many enemy did overthrow.

Many on that day there fought,
Pippen, the Hafling, and Gandalf the Grey,
Many blows they wrought,
To those in their way.

Though there are many more,
Our tale must not wander.
So we finish the telling of the war,
The magnificent Battle of Gondor.

Much of Middle earth history was retold through songs and poetry, often late into the night, after large suppers, or feasts. In this poem the story of the Battle at Pelennor Fields is told in the same style that the minstrels and poets of Middle Earth would have used. It names many of the brave men, women, hobbits, and others who were in the battle. This poem was started in December (of 2005) but was not finished until June, 2006.
June, 2006

No More To Roam.

I ma now here in peace,
Seeing Bilbo, my dear friend.
Then why am I not at ease?
I want my journey now to end.

I spent all my childhood dreaming,
Of places far away.
Where I would go, if I could,
But now that I've done it, my heart seems to say,

That the Shire is the place I love best,
The fellow hobbits, the fields, the hills,
That quiet place of rest,
Where I wandered at will.

I don't like Bilbo, want to travel,
I thought the outside world I wanted.
But now as happenings unravel,
My desire is quite daunted.

The desire for wandering is spent,
I wish no more to roam,
I want no more adventure, or excitement,
I now just wish to go home.

In the Fellowship of The Ring (movie version only), Frodo tells Bilbo, at Rivendell, he had always dreamed of travel and adventure, but now that he has experienced it, he knew that what he loved best was The Shire, and all he wanted was to go home to it.
July, 2006

Lament Of Gollum.

We make a promise, yes? 
To keep long and true.
One Ruling Ring is best,
And It's kept out of view.

My thought is always on It,
I can feel It in my hand,
Oh, the long hours I would sit,
Holding It, deep within the land.

Another has It now, holds It,
It's power works on him.
Drawing like as toward a pit,
But we know the precious will win.

We love the precious, so does he.
Though he says otherwise.
He is even now, as we,
For the precious has clouded his eyes.

He knows It's power, Ring of Doom,
To me, as well, as him,
Long 'twas MINE in halls of gloom,
We know the precious will win.

Master knows on what,
We will to our word be true,
The precious is the only way-
And the precious is kept out of view.

In The Two Towers, Gollum tells Frodo that he will be faithful to him and says he will swear on the Ring. Frodo, however, seeing that Gollum only wishes touch the Ring, says no, Gollum can swear by It. In this poem Gollum is complaining about this, and also saying how although Frodo is trying hard to resist It, the Rings power is drawing him, too.
August, 2006

Isildur's Heir.

In Imladris, a fostered son,
Of noble blood and line,
Where training of the elves was done,
And swiftly passed the time.

The boy is grown, the man is come,
A warrior in his might.
There are battles to be won,
The time has come to fight.

Long were the years of waiting,
Many the years of sorrow.
An evil power berating,
Fear has filled the morrow.

The Sword was broken, now mended,
The line thought broken, now returned.
The icy hand far extended,
Now will be burned.

What mean these riddles? 
What meaning do they bring?
It is the news to hearken,
To look to the return of the king! 

This poem tells the story of Aragon, King of Gondor. He grew up in the household of Elrond, in Rivendell, and was raised alongside his sons. Imladris in Elvish means Rivendell.
Sept. 2006

The way Of The Hobbits.

A mug of ale, a nice long tale,
A fire burning bright.
Not rain, nor hail, shall break the vail,
Covering Shire nights.

Sun shining mild, the laugh of a child,
Flowers blooming gay.
Fields of grain, soft summer rain,
Company for a long stay.

Smoking a pipe, fruit turning ripe,
Feasting from noon til night.
Green and yellow, soft and mellow,
The Shire is just right.

Full of peace, not to cease,
Innocence it it's claim.
This happy little land, free from evil's hand,
Always stay the same.

I love everything about the hobbits, and their way of life. Very few people in Middle Earth knew, or even cared about them, yet it was two hobbits who changed the whole course of events in Middle Earth. What Gandalf says (in the movie version) in Fellowship of The Ring, is so true. "You can learn all that there is to know about their ways in a month, and yet after a hundred years they can still surprise you at a pinch.” This poem tells of their lives, and what they enjoy doing. A very simple, happy life.
Oct. 2006

Roaming Ring

Many years, and many ways.
Many trails, and many roads.
The Ring has seen many days,
Has made Itself many loads.

From one, to another, It has gone,
Always onward to raom,
Always on and on,
Always seeking It's home.

It was made with one intent, 
With one thought in mind.
A powerful evil It vents,
If lost, It's master will find.

The one Ruling Ring, to rule the rest,
To rule them all unseen.
Burn and kill all good and best,
In greater danger few have ever been.

This was the very last poem that I wrote. It says how the Ring passed through many hands, but It always had one goal, to return to It's master, Sauron. It was funny to me, that my first poem was about the Ring (at Tom Bombadil's house), and the last was about It as well--trust me, it was totally not planned.
Oct. 2006

© Annie Ryan. All text property of Annie Ryan. Please to not copy. 

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