I cleaned my attic one spring day
And came upon a chest.
I opened it, and in it lay
A cloak, a staff, a vest.
Great-grandpa Sam had worn these things
I'd heard my mother say,
When he and Frodo and the rings
Were wonders of the day.
Great-Grandpa Sam, a memory
I treasure, more and more.
Yet, I'm the last. When I am gone
What then, of all this lore?
They never want to hear it now,
The folks I live among.
So busy with their little lives,
Too busy for a song.
They never think, these busy folk
Of danger, of the tide
Of evil creeping close.
The past is tossed aside.
How soon the terror fades from thought
When ease and comfort rule.
How quickly heroes start to seem
Just boring, fat old fools.
Times may have changed, but still, you know
That Evil never rests.
Will we, like Sam and Frodo rise
To go upon the Quest?