Poems for the Fellowship by NaesseAnwamane
Soft but strong, like leather,
Sweet but oh so tough,
Who once sat dreaming in the heather,
And whose life is now so rough
He rarely looses a complaint,
And scarcely sheds a tear,
But he’s a hobbit, not a saint,
And even he has fear.
So loyal and stouthearted,
His master’s wish his own,
He may regret he started,
But he can’t leave his friend alone.
He’s fought against the creatures,
That cause great Men to quail,
Though friendly are his features,
In his quest he shall not fail.
A child at heart, a gentle soul,
But not afraid to fight,
This hobbit longed to play a role,
And strive against the endless night.
He hailed from Buckland, in the Shire,
And did not like the war,
But as a noble king’s esquire,
He fought for things worth dying for.
The youngest and the most naïve,
Of the Fellowship so bold,
He was not meant to weep or grieve,
His fortune no sage would have told.
No hobbit ever would have thought,
Their friend would go adventuring,
But in a giant war he fought,
To keep the peace for centuries.
His heart was never quite content,
He always longed for more,
Until the day his life was spent,
In the first small battle of the biggest war.
He would have been a Lord of men,
And earned a name in songs and lore,
Had his years stretched to their extent,
This heir of Denethor.
(Umm… he already has a poem. Why should he get two? Oh well. I bet they all have poems somewhere.)
So many names describe this man,
And each a different man it’s own,
But all the names in all the lands,
Could not give him enough renown.
He’ll do most anything he can,
To save his friends and protect his home,
Would that the sword could leave his hand,
And he could reign from his high throne.
An elven prince, and archer keen,
His face as fair as dawn,
He’s way to good for any queen,
Why else does he not get it on?
(Just kidding. Trying again… )
An elven prince, an archer keen,
With face as fair as dawn,
The Fellowship is safe with he,
So long as bowstring he has drawn.
His love for forests and for trees,
Is great as that of doe for fawn,
But if he ever sees the sea,
That sweet content shall soon be gone.
(Grr he’s a tough guy dwarf that is the butt of the three jokes in the entire trilogy. Yup. His girls have beards, he needs a box, and he can only kill TWO orcs in the time it takes Legolas to get 17.)
So stout of body and of heart,
So rarely quaked with fear,
A journey he is keen to start,
And he’s not really picky where.
He’s eager to be off, depart,
To wander there or here,
His axe fells more than deadly darts,
His combat fierce and near.
(Sorry I left you for last! You were supposed to be up with the hobbits!)
Casting spells or laughing,
Steely will or warmth,
Defender of the halflings,
Protector of the dwarves.
Leader so revered,
Of elves and of men,