By Frodo Baggins  

The road winds on, though weary feet  
Have danced with shadow, kissed defeat.  
But still it leads, through vale and glen,  
To hearths of home and kin again.  

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The Shire awaits, in dew-draped green,  
With fields of gold and hills serene.  
Yet here I linger, heart grown old,  
A tale half-told, a fire gone cold.  

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O Samwise dear, my steadfast light,  
Through darkest depths, through endless night,  
Your hand was firm, your spirit true,  
Who bore me up when strength was few.  

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And yet, the world is vast and wide,  
With secrets hid where shadows bide.  
Shall we not pause to greet the morn,  
Where rivers sing on, and dreams are born?  
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I see the White Tree, tall and bright,  
Its silver leaves in moonlit light.  
I hear the cry of gulls afar,  
That call me hence beyond the star.  

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But here, tonight, let us remain,  
With pipe in hand and soft refrain.  
Good Old Toby’s smoke curls high,  
Like fleeting dreams against the sky.  
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For though the Ring is gone, unmade,  
Its weight upon my heart has stayed.  
Yet love endures, through pain and fear,