At the Last.....

- jan-u-wine

 

It is quiet in my study,

 

flickering silence

keeping company

 

with the candle's

muted diminishment,

 

the small, soft music of Elanor

finding its gentle way

beneath the door.

 

I smile and rest myself

within the tender cradle 

of distanc'd sound,

 

the fragile melody of her

sweetly imprinting itself

upon my memory.

 

 

Elanor the Fair.

 

 

This quill shall know

the touch of your hand,

 

these books,

 

your curious, 

thorough-eyed regard.

 

The star-pointed rug

shall hold you safe

 

through a winter night's dreme-journey,

the hearth-fire 

 

sigh with secrets

only you

 

might understand.

 

Oh, Elanor.

 

I will never

truly

 

know you.

 

My heart stills

with the weight of this simple truth,

 

breath halting beneath the burden

of all that I shall,

knowingly,

relinquish,

 

(and all the sweet unknowns

that I must surrender,

 

perforce).

 

This,

I cannot

do.

 

This,

 

with surety,

I must.

 

 

For the last time,

my fingers

 

find the faded pouch,

separate

 

the gold of Bilbo's signet

from the ordinary silver of my own....

 

for the last time,

wax,

 

hot and red as a blush'd apple, 

 

bleeds

upon ivory parchment,

is contained

 

within an initial'd circle.

 

 

 

F.B.

 

 

 

For the last time, I write, after,

 

"of the Shire".

 

At last,

all is done.

 

At last,

I may rest.

 

Within the sweet-bitter

circle

 

of memory,

beyond the edge of the world,

 

may I find,

 

at the last,

my rest.