The Fellowship of the Thing

LotR Object: Sam's pack

an object poem, in free-style

A silver scarf
A length of silk or humble wool
No magical powers nor hidden pockets
But strong enough to stay the searching fingers
Of the Winter wind

An handkerchief
White with delicate broidery
It offers no protection
From evil swords or cave trolls
Only to hold to one's face
And remember home

A brass key
Fitting only a private gate
Used and now useless
But for the symbol of escape
And hopeful return

A pipe
Short and shallow
Perhaps on this Adventure
I will get a chance
To break it in

A single leaf from a beechen bough
Hardly any green left now
Except in the heart
Of he who bears this token
Like a withered tear

As many axes as I could carry
No matter how much extra weight
A Dwarf bears burdens
All his life and values
Friendship over gold

A crushed golden flower
Live not too much in the shadows
They will take your dreams
Hiding from fate is a kind of death
It is more dangerous to live

Emblems of ancient glory
Embossed upon your arms
Why did you leave your city?
Proud and fair
You knew she could not stand

An old backpack
Stuffed to the bursting
Of all the things I carry
The heaviest cannot fit in it
My desire to go home