Away they went to a far off land,
Near the water of Mirromere's fountain.
Of Durin and his loyal clan,
No word came, to the Lonely Mountain.
Moria silver was their desire,
Dwarves working with pick and axe.
Dark creature breathing smoke and fire,
In the hard rock, he left no tracks.
They would reclaim their stolen treasure,
As deep they delved into the stone.
Aware of danger, too great to measure,
Awakening an evil, better left alone.
Tho' they fought, bravely, to the end,
With arrows whine and swords flash.
"They are coming", scribbled words by pen,
Their journey's diary, turned to ash.