Elven Rope

- jan-u-wine

'tis cold today.
 
ragged, grey-smirched clouds
cling
at the top of the Hill.
 
yet,
above their shrouded heads
lives the fragile blue of thrush egg.
 
thoughts,
like clear water,
fall away from me
touch, like  roughened  hands,
to the soil's
welcome warmth.
 
In my mind,
I see other grey clouds…
 
clouds……
 
sunlight sweeping
the serene face of the sky,
 
glinting solemn
upon little waves
that touch a silver'd ship
and speak of good-bye.
 
I hear them,
even now.
 
Now and forever,
I will hear them,
 
like a distanc'd song,
 
like a glimpse of a far-away
country
through a curtain of soft rain.
 
I have told you
before:
 
You
must not
go
 
where I cannot
follow.
 
Oh……
 
but when I saw your smile
 
and
 
it said peace
and
Home….
 
why, then,
 
with mine own hands
I would have cast off
the fine silver
of the line.
 
I have cause to know
the strength of that rope,
 
and
 
how gently
it comes to those
who know how
to call it.
 
When you think on me,
 
beyond the wide miles
that will  separate us,
 
think on that silver'd line:
 
for that is what I am,
 
what I ever shall be:
 
that which knows when to hold fast
and
 
when to set free.
 
You are free now, master.
 
Namarie, my friend.
 
             Farewell, Frodo.