I wander the earth, in eternal doubt,
Yet as absolute as the law,
I lay all low, from weak to great men stout,
I lead men to their lives final door.

I am Death, Many lives of mortals,
Have been spent in futile attempts,
My work to halt, to guard lost portals,
That mortals tread when their time is spent.

My duty is old, in years gone now,
Beyond the reckoning of men it is,
I saw the first storm, Heard the first winds blow,
As I strode shrouded in thick, impenetrable mists.

Yet sad am I, not for those who suffer lifes loss,
My Job I have gotten used to doing, to feel
I mourn for loved ones, who lifes threshold cross,
And leave me behind, with a broken heart to heal.

I quickly gain posession of myself, and thither,
To leave my dark and lonely halls,
To claim mens souls, on heath or heather,
Or within bustling town and fortress walls.

The life of such a natural servant as I ,
Is shrouded in mortal lies and woe,
Yet many view it a release to die,
I am thy friend, but not thy foe.

Comment if you feel like it,
Thanks,
Mephiston

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"This is the hour of the Shire-folk, when they arise from their quiet fields to shake the towers and counsels of the Great. Who of all the Wise could have foreseen it? Or, if they are wise, why should they expect to know it, until the hour has struck? "