March 25

- jan-u-wine
astray
bearing
a great
burden
without guidance:
 
Frodo Baggins, Ringbearer
 ______________________
 
No more.
 
the heel of the mountain
cradles me:

The
World.
 
My world.
 
It will never
be the same.

I rest upon
this stone-tossed
Road
as if it
were a bed of Light.

I understand
what it is
to smile again,
to breathe.
 
Even fire-consumed air
seems fresh,
sharply smooth
with Spring.
 
In my mind,
I lie,
concealed  
within the
sweet green
hills of Home.

Soft light

plays

through budding
leaves-

laughter,

wild sweet
laughter
of children
hidden in fields
full,
ripe
and rich
with life
pours
through me like drowsy
warm
sunlight on the floor.
 
Beyond the hard,
delicate
lace
of  snow-drowned
Caradhras,
beyond the sleeping
treasure of Mirrormere,
beyond Lorien's long
autumn,
and the amber-hued

suspended

beauty
of the Last Homely House,
the depthless
grey eye
of the Sea
beckons me.
 
Elves....
men....
dwarves....

the great
wheel
of the world

thrums
with song:
 
a new song,
shaded,
tinged
by sorrow,
by sadness,
by bittersweet,
redemptive loss.
 
Joy
washes through me,
harsh and beautiful,
all at once.
 
The world
comes back
in a rush of sound
and sight:

your hand
presses mine:

lines of care

spider-web

the corners of your eyes.
 
Your voice,
strange,
desperately beautiful,
like the first voice
I ever heard,
welcomes me........
 
What
 
are you saying?
 
 
'Home'
 
 
The woods,
the fields,
the little rivers.....
 
Home:
 
The Hill,
the bright green
of the door,
the garden
heavy with summer,
the kind eyes
of familiar stars,
the cool comforting dust of the road.
 
Home........
 
How soon
do you
suppose
we can start,
Sam?
 
___________________________________

he may
become
like a glass
filled
with clear light
for eyes
to see that can:
 
Frodo Baggins, gentle-hobbit of the Shire