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It looked extremely rocky for the Moria nine that day;
The orcs were hot upon their trail, a chasm barred the way.
Though Aragorn had drawn his sword and Frodo pulled out Sting,
Still a pallor wreathed the features of the bearers of the Ring.
Upon the stricken Company a deathlike silence fell;
The Balrog burst across the flames like something sent from Hell.
A fiery mane streamed backward from his bony eyebrow ridge -
But Gandalf, mighty Gandalf, was advancing to the bridge!
The Men ran back to lend support, the Hobbits raised a cheer,
And Legolas and Gimli felt a lightening of their fear.
To all, the Balrog seemed but just a pesky little midge -
They'd put up even money now, with Gandalf at the bridge!
And now the wizard lifts his staff, and now he lets it go,
And now the bridge is shattered by the force of Gandalf's blow.
The Balrog fell adown the deep, with fiery whistling breeze,
But as he fell, his curling whip caught Gandalf by the knees.
Oh, somewhere else in Middle-earth the sun is shining bright,
And somewhere elves are plinking harps, and somewhere hearts are light.
And somewhere dwarves are singing songs, and hobbit-children shout -
But there is no joy in Moria; mighty Gandalf has struck out.