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Men from Mirkwood



 

I hail from the borders of Mirkwood,

no honeyed words in my ear,

sweetens my labour, nor my mood.

 

My people is what counts,

from my throat, echoes the past,

of my ancestor's recount!

 

We need no mountains high,

'neath roof of leaves, is where we live,

is where we thrive!

 

My eye is wary betwixt the trees,

to catch evils dark, to gain hunt's game,

dead is the fool that refuses to see.

 

I never would shun,

the farmer on his field, the fisherman that nets his yield,

however when battle waged is where glory is won!

 

Should I be driven to grab my club,

to fend raider from my yard, to split spider's hide,

I refuse to kneel to a stranger's powerlust!

 

I hail from the Murky wood, honesty is my decree,

salt of the earth I want, with beauty and wealth comes worry,

Having enough births peace.