PART ONE

From a Kingdom deep inside the woods,
Mirkwood is it’s name,
Came an Elven Prince, tall and fair,
He was proud and without shame.
Though dark the history of his home,
His soul was full of light,
He found peace in solitude,
And loved the starry night.
His hair had the gold of sunrise,
So sleek and soft and fair,
To the middle of his back it fell,
And never did it snare.
His eyes were crystal pools,
Deep and knowing, seeing far,
As blue as the ocean deep,
Yet shining like the stars.
His skin was clear as the summer sky,
No spot nor blemish in sight,
As soft and smooth as silken sheets
In the moonlight, shining bright.
His voice is that of singing birds,
In the dawning of the day,
He sang his songs all beautifully,
As is the Elven way.
His skill was that of Archery,
His skill was yet unmatched,
No one who had challenged him,
Had gone away unscratched.
His mind was wise as any,
Surpassing quite a few,
A paradox of memories,
Of knowledge, old and new.
To Rivendell, he was called forth,
To journey on a quest,
To destroy the Ring of Power,
He hoped it would turn out for the best.
Far atop Mt. Caradhras,
Where they nearly met their doom,
He used his eyes and keen Elven ears,
To hear Saruman’s evil voice boom.
Deep in the Mines of Moria,
His skills of combat were of worth,
When they jumped arcross the crumbling stair,
He made sure none fell to the Earth.
When the Fellowship had left
The fair Lothlorien,
He felt that the Urukai,
Were drawing near again.
When the Horn of Gondor
Had sounded the last time,
It was he and he alone,
Who had heard it’s desperate cry.
What depth and wonders his heart conseals
We may never know,
And though the Elves are gone from here,
We still can feel the Elven touch,
Whenever the wind blows.