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Swift flow the long, bitter years since light and warmth filled this proud house.
But now gone is that time. Fallen and bare lay its stones.
Once in the land of the king rose this bastion strong and commanding.
Its walls are crumbled and low; nature reclaims its domain.
Standing above rolling fields, this sentinel guarded the roadway.
Past rode elves to their ports, dwarves to their deep-dolven halls.
Found in a country sparse and unkempt near forest primeval,
Lands between farthing and Hill now without ruler or throne.
There lies the ring in darkness buried as memories faded,
There where the waters now pool, flowing, the long, bitter tears.
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