When I wear my tattered brown robe
And wield this upturned oaken staff
In this vast green, I start to probe---
And I see this Elf-and-a-half.

He spun tales about being king,
Moaned and groaned about his long life.
In his main tongue he starts to sing
a song of war with Uruk-hai.

Seldom have I understood the plights of folk---
All of them loved death since the times of old.