Nor Bid the Stars Farewell

- jan-u-wine

not for the first time
(but for the last)
I find myself
saying farewell
to familiar places.

another journey
from which I do not
expect
to return.

the days spill
like page'd parchment
upon the floor.

bittersweet,
this farewell,
this division
of my heart.

the soft,
silvered dust
of the road
is sweet beneath
my feet,

leaves
burnished
crimson
torch
a blue-drowsed sky.

impossible
that I should
catch the clear,
cold
scent of the Sea
secreted
within the smell
of bright winter
roses.

Impossible.
~*~*~*~*~*~*

Gold light
folds
its gentle hand
upon my desk,
fingers
the books
lying silent there.

My hand touches
faded Red,
closes the scarred
cover
at last.

In my mind,
I see Bilbo's fond
smile
as I lay the pen,
finally quiet,
atop its worn face.
 
He will be pleased, I know.

I hear Sam
half-singing
in the watered Sun beyond
the window.

It is a song he often
sings of late:

the Song of the Western lands.

We will not say the day is done,
Samwise.

Not
when there is so much yet

to be,

to know.
 
So much…..

Life

yet
waiting.
 
   
I look about
the small,
imperfect
perfection
that defines
our world.

The world we saved together,
Samwise.

How
I love the sunlight, Sam…..

How
I love the Shire.

Perhaps I shall see it
again
 in the blues and greens
of grey-misted Valinor,

perhaps I shall
feel it in the radiance,
flowing like the steady Anduin,
from the Lady's Lamp.

It has grown quiet
in the garden beyond the window.

Feet measure the path between door
and study,
eyes that I could never lie to
question mine.

When I think on this last day,
I will remember the seed-cake
Rosie made,

and how we four sat beneath the Tree,
laughing, and pulling warm, honey-slicked bits
into  our mouths.

Little Elle ran almost as fast as the wind
that flew the gold of her hair like a far-flung
kite.

Dear Rosie poured both tea and tales
into the silences that hid beneath our smiles.

And you, Sam……………

How carefully you held every word
I spoke,
turning them about in your mind,
weighing them,
like a coin you did not trust the metal of.

I wonder if I have managed to mis-direct you,
with my talk of venturing once more
upon the Road.

Worried hurt lies in the lines
about your eyes,
in the frown between your brow.

What should I do, Samwise?

You would not let me go;
not if you knew.

And I must go.

Alone,
this time, Sam.

I meet the uncertain
certainty
of your eyes.

I try to tell you without words
that I will not go where you
cannot follow. 

But not
yet,

not yet,
my friend.

The only heart
that truly knows sorrow
at this farewell
is mine….

yours would not be darkened,
if mine were whole.

When our places are reversed,
Sam,
when each day becomes for you a pained
shadow of every one that went before,
then the Sea will call you.

Then it will be I who waits
with sun-light and laughter,
I whose hand will welcome you Home.

Help me
one last time, Sam:

Look away.

Pretend for me that you do not know.