Come gather my children, come gather around,

To hear all the legends we sing,

Of great battles that raged between evil and good,

And of Frodo's dire fight with the Ring.  

For many's the time in the legends of old

When mightiest deeds were undone,

Yet the challenge remained for the future to solve,

And that burden must fall on but one.  

In distant past times of the late Second Age,

When Sauron constructed the Ring,

And the final alliance of elf kind and men,

Under Elindil, Gondor's great king  

Gave battle in Dagorlad's blood splattered plain,

And drove back the dark Morgul hoards,

The one Ring of Power was taken and lost,

And forgotten by nobles and lords.  

But Sauron still lived in the dark neverlands,

His spirit still roamed in the gloam,

For the One Ring of Power was bound to him still,

And fighting to find its way home.

T'was Gollum they called him, and Gollum it seems,

(Though Smeagol some say was his name),

Who would harbor that ring for some six hundred years,

Its power corrupting his frame.  

Then, crawling, he hid in an underground lake,

Till the Ring had a chance to escape.

A mere hobbit named Bilbo discovered it there.

The Ring had it own schemes to shape.  

For Sauron, it's said, and the Ring were but one,

Thus it schemed to return to its lord.

But then Sauron schemed too, for his focus was honed.

T'ward the Ring all his dark will was poured.   

As Bilbo grew old the One Ring passed along

To his nephew named Frodo, a boy.

So to him fell the task of destroying the Ring,

And indeed, thereby Sauron, destroy.  

So many the songs, and so many the tales,

Of his journey to Mordor's dark gloom.

The Ring could not end but in whence it was forged,

The fiery heart of Mount Doom.  

While all Middle Earth, like a huge game of chess,

Maneuvered and schemed on that Ring,

It was Frodo and Samwise, the loyal, his friend,

Who had to get rid of the thing. 

But yet it is said, the Ring's power was so great,

That poor Frodo would fail in the end,

If not for the greed of old Gollum, it seems,

On his greed all of fate would depend.  

On a precipice there, in the heart of Mount Doom

Those two scuffled and fought for the Ring,

In the end Gollum fell, to his fiery death,

Still clutching his Precious, his Ring.  

And thus Sauron died along with his Ring.

As the veil of his malice was torn,

The bright sun of peace on the Middle Earth shone,

The era of mankind was born.