Pig-a-back

- jan-u-wine

Only I
might have
discerned
the soft foot-fall
behind me.
 
Soft
as the
soft
grey of the rain,
 
quiet
as the torn
rags of clouds
gusting above.
 
He
followed
me.
 
Ruddy cheek'd,
eyes
wide
and
green
as fallen leaves,
he looks the long
distance
to my face.
 
And
 
admits
his following
to be not so pure
of purpose.
 
The Fair Folk,
it seems,
 
hold
his heart
within
their slender grasp - 
 
touch his mind
with tales
of great deeds
and ships
a'sailing.
 
I gather him
to me:
 
Samwise,
 
I do not think
the Fair Folk
are abroad
this day,
 
even though
the rain
is
as gem’d crystal,
 
the sky the
gently woven
colour
of their cloaks.
 
Such a little lad,
 
looking
at me
with droplets
of grey
misting the autumn
quiet
of his eyes.
 
Too little
to have followed me
into the darkening day.
 
They will be missing him
at home....
 
Bell
will be crying
and
 
the Gaffer's cragg'd face
will be as turned milk.
 
Too little,
he is,
to walk alone,
so,
in the largeness of
the World.
 
Come, Sam,
just this once
I shall ride
you upon my
back.....
 
His hand,
still rounded
with child-hood,
touches my shoulder....
 
the high sweetness
of his voice
assures
me that someday
he shall
return the favor.
 
I smile.....
 
yes, little Samwise,
 
someday
 
you shall ride
me upon your
back.
 
Little Sam......
 
With the rain
 
wisping
sweet upon my face,
 
I turn for home.
 
He
followed
 
me……