From a smial in the shire, where seldom is heard the word hate,
A garden tended by a young hobbit, trusty Samwise the Great.
To Southern lands went Sam and Frodo, a friend and a mate,
Seeking with Isildur’s Bane they went to find the Black Gate.
The White Council convened in an age long since past,
Saruman the White, Gandalf Grey, and brown Radagast.
The Brown lost to wandering and the White faded fast,
Then Grey shone White, reborn, to Middle Earth at last.
The dark vile blood of Orcs, flows black as the night,
With black cursed arrows, to bring death in their flight.
Marked with the Wizards white hand, a traitor to the fight,
Dwells in Orthanc his tower, black and soulless to sight.
Nine mounted fell riders in Black, crown to boot,
From Mordor, Nazgul named, the one ring in pursuit.
From the black reaches of Fangorn there came an Entmoot,
Ents and Hurons march to war not by foot but by root.
The White Rider on White steed speeds as if time stands still,
To the White tower of Ecthelion, where the Steward fell ill.
He foresaw the Black fleet by the palantir bent by his will,
O’er the White Tree of Gondor with his guards in mithril.
Black Captain, Angmar the witch-king by shield-maiden slain,
Captain Boromir sleeps on river Anduin, dressed in mail of chain.
And the White Star of Elendil rests on King Aragorns mane,
Heros scour the Shire, with courage from Dagorlad, the Battle Plain.
The one ring, my precious, it all started with blame,
Destroyed for all time on Black Orodruin in a river of flame.
The White Lady, White Wizard and ring bearer, Frodo by name,
To depart the Grey Havens with elf-lords and Uncle, that’s the end game.