‘Is the fire lit, Sam?
Is the water hot?’
Wake him gently,
He thinks he’s at home.
A candle in the window
Burned to darkness.

A parching wind
A sullen sky
A tiny flame sheltered
By Sam’s weatherbeaten hand.
‘Nearly lit, now, Mr. Frodo!’
Oh Sam don't let the fire go out.

Through a sea of smoke
The mountains march away
Ridge upon scorching ridge.
Like doomed sailors
On a fireship we
Dream of home.

The further behind
The fires of home
The closer ahead
That great fire which
Must end all,
The task, the Age and me.

In my heart the flame is out.
Sam only tends
The ashes now.
Oh do not tell him!
Let him still for me
Keep fire and faith alive.

- Varda