At one year old the son of Narn did see his father leave,
To war he went, though old and bent, his family did grieve,
At Khazad-dum he held the gate,
The goblins there saw to his fate,
As Azog died before the door, Nok's father was no more.
At sixty years Nok mastered craft of masonry and stone,
He built great walls of majesty right from the mountain's bone,
But spirit cannot be denied,
He wished to travel far and wide,
Behind examples of his skills, he left the Iron Hills.
At eighty Nok returned at last from places never seen,
He told his tales to all who'd hear and even those less keen,
He proudly showed his gemcraft off,
As learned from Elves, though some did scoff,
And settled down to find a wife, contented with his life.
One-hundred years and more Nok was when he was called to war,
The Dwarves were taking back their home; the mountain Erebor,
His son a fighter by his side,
From evil goblin weapons died,
He wept upon the battlefield, heart never to be healed.
Two hundred years and twenty, Nok had travelled Middle-Earth,
But never could he venture back there to his place of birth,
He felt his old bones aging fast,
The time to see his home at last,
From Thorin's Gate he did depart, his last adventure's start.