Quote:
Originally Posted by Boromir88
What would Fezzik say?
Do you not want to play?
Ok, ok, no more rhymes. I mean it.
*think serious**think serious*
Look out for the PIT!
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A poet? So be it.
In Deadmen's Dike the dead still dwell
And countless creatures grim and fell
Who harry mortals who chance by.
Yet though Men from this place will fly
An older fear lies o'er the land,
A darkness from the Dark Lord's hand.
The Blossom falls, yet all in mirth
Cavort the creatures of the earth
And sky, who ought by rights to seek
Her slayers dire. The noisome reek
Of werewolves rises from her grave.
Yet who shall seek this town to save?
Not
Boromir, who poems cries
While Blossom's soul in anguish sighs!
Thrice he has spoken, thrice in jest,
Delighting the Wight (and all the rest).
So to find the one who wrought this fate,
I look to the warg who's always late!