Mumak of the Shire

- jan-u-wine



t'is a strange bit of the tale.....
 
there are none left now
save me
to tell it....
 
Just me
and you
and that last
sunrise
coming
Home.
 
______________________
 
All the morning,
you were quiet
(well, *more* quiet, still).
 
And we pretended we did not
see
you lost
in dreams or thought,
watching dragon-flies
laze
above the hot
stillness
of the river's moss.
 
I missed you
when we came to cross
the bridge of grey rock
lying beneath its
laughing voice.
 
Dew-backed beetles
stirred the soft dirt
as you knelt
there
in the sweet,
bent-headed, beaded  grass.
 
Within the Road
of your palm,
the Grand Gaffer
of snails
made his slow progress.
 
Tiny upraised horns
glistening,
the burnished brown shell
of his carapace swayed.
 
With wondrous care
you set him gently
down
and watched him on his way,
trailing a kingly mantle.
 
That odd half-smile,
speaking of other places,
other times,
touched your mouth,
rose,
like an answerless
question
to your eyes.
 
I put my arm
about you.....
 
The clean,
cold clarity
of the river
bathed our feet
as we crossed.
 
Yes.

He was
just

like the Oliphaunt,
wasn't he?