Riding Home

They left me,
Riding alone, at starshine.
On they went, talking
In low voices while I
Wept alone.

The horses knew the way,
For I could not have found
My path home, in dewfall
And darkness,
Blinded by memory.

‘Everything all right, Sam?’
They shouted, once,
And I called out;
‘Fine, Master Merry…’
Telling lies again.

How often I lied to you!
‘I’m not hungry; I’m
Not tired’, when I
Wanted to drop and
Could have eaten the Shire.

And all along you knew
And by the end mere words
Were worthless coin. Stripped
Of custom, rank and place
I saw into your heart.

‘Not much further, Sam!’
The road behind is empty
Empty the road before.
Forever empty, with you gone.
The stars will call us home.

- Varda