Trying to wish myself back to the time now forty-five years
that summer before I read the Trilogy to end all trilogies
before Bilbo left the Shire before I walked the Shire
and we birthed on Adventures unknown with Frodo and Pippin and Merry
that called forth living Elvenkings and Elvenqueens and ancient trees
who talked and walked Middle Earth over the Misty Mountains
and we were regaled in the mirth of mountain dwarves
with mead goblets raised to the ancient stories
of everlasting Gandalfian wizardry and the hidden truth
that we will finally embark on the grey ships
sailing to cross the Silver Sea to reach
the always-close and deeply remembered White Shore
at Journey's End where we rediscover the Shire of Home
bathed in the familiar empyrean light
of the most ancient of enchanted Suns
whose stardust sails in our very selves on this shore
that summer before I read the Trilogy to end all trilogies
before Bilbo left the Shire before I walked the Shire
and we birthed on Adventures unknown with Frodo and Pippin and Merry
that called forth living Elvenkings and Elvenqueens and ancient trees
who talked and walked Middle Earth over the Misty Mountains
and we were regaled in the mirth of mountain dwarves
with mead goblets raised to the ancient stories
of everlasting Gandalfian wizardry and the hidden truth
that we will finally embark on the grey ships
sailing to cross the Silver Sea to reach
the always-close and deeply remembered White Shore
at Journey's End where we rediscover the Shire of Home
bathed in the familiar empyrean light
of the most ancient of enchanted Suns
whose stardust sails in our very selves on this shore
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