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In lands of myth and olden times,
In minds and hearts of men;
There lies yet Boromir,
He who fought in Mark and Fen.
His youth and vigour have slept long now,
His blade is shrouded in rust.
But from the dead he shall rise,
And break away from dust.
His Strength was awe inspiring then,
But strength is a shadow.
His heart was big and kind;
With intentions far from shallow.
But one golden ring caught his eye,
Its gleam ensnared his mind.
His heart broke free, but stranded there
His thoughts were far from kind.
He used his strength to gain the ring,
Aghast he cried in pain.
For though his mind was caught with lust,
He knew that he was wrong.
His might was raised in vengeance!
What a sight, what a scene!
With broader strokes he fought with heart,
And saved the scared Halfling.
Alas! His sword was shattered then,
And death came swift as night;
But though his flesh was hewn and wracked,
His soul with force will fight.
Oh, come now Boromir!
Take up your shield of old.
Fight with honour, with hardened heart,
And save, defend and shield.
And sorry with joining on a sarcastic note. I usually take a Bombadil out-look on life, I swear!
