Wherein Poor Elrond Halfelven Juxtaposes A Quick End to the Bad Boy's Zonal Quest Game

An alphabetic verse that makes little sense, but has every letter of the alphabet in the title, and also in each 4-line stanza.

Many the ages Elrond Halfelven ruled
Beside those bright and sparkling wetly
Soft green-jade quiet pools
Zealously exacting in his choosing every tool.

A zillion quests selected under his watchful brow
Careful his perusing, nine-numbered and flawless
All groups a-jigging, axes backed by bows,
Lining them up, verily shortest to tallest.

Previous was tallest, the gangliest that bore
Questing item to the crack, yet another doom to end.
A joke suddenly fluttered Elrond to his core
Zounds! Exactly! What a good one he would fend!

This current group waited, quite a mix for questing,
The brawniest expecting to be chosen to bear.
He laughed, and selected for this round of testing
The tiny one, viz a joke! Too little to be snared!

Quest after quest he had sent out in endless line
Weary fatigue of keeping evil Sauron well-supplied.
The exit was apparent! No zonal expert's crime
To be a bit creative in this one bearer's size.

As they exited the dell, he was riven of his cares.
Just to see Morgoth's face he wished quite a lot.
Sez he, these mismatched bumblers, they will be a snare.
Led by a hobbit! He'll think it's a pack of rot!