O’er clear, smooth waves
the grey ship bore him
to the land of the Lady
of glimmering stars.
There evermore will he stay
where the stars never dim.
And here I stay, with tears.
Will I see your face never again?

“Not this time, dear Sam.”
Those were his words last.
A last embrace, then…
I saw him no more.
O Frodo, where are you?
Are you now only in my past?
Is it my fell doom to
remain forever without you?

After war, battles, and strife
we won through together.
Through darkness and famine
we together pulled through.
“I’m comin’ too, Frodo,
this storm we’ll both weather.”
Your parting words linger still,
dear to my ears.

O! Valimar! Sweet are thee,
but bitter also to my tongue.
Tell me, seabirds white,
does Frodo still remain there?
Speak, o stars everwhite,
is my friend’s song still sung?
Answer, sea-sent river,
does my master still live?

Many charms holds this
Middle Earth, my home.
Sweet is the music
that plays in its streams.
So dear is this land
these rivers white with foam!
But the world mourns now;
it rains outside, and on the window-panes.

It weeps for the loss
of the dearest of my friends.
It weeps for a hobbit:
Frodo Baggins of the Shire.
It weeps a message
no one ever sends:
“Oh Frodo, come back to
your dear, only Sam.”

Hope has nearly
forsaken my mind.
“Nothing ever lowers
your spirits, Sam.”
Mr. Frodo, my hope
I would soon find
if I could but see your
dear face once more.

I remember his words
Held close, now he’s left.
Every smile, each frown,
each laugh of content.
Those days are spent,
and of happiness bereft.
As you once said, Frodo,
“Where shall I now find rest?”

A single sentence of hop
lingers in my mind a moment.
“Your time may come,
for you were a Ringbearer too.”
It takes me but a second,
to figure what you meant.
But me? Am I worthy
to stop upon those shores?

To see the Lady
who shines everwhite,
and the Lord, who, clad in blue
commands the wind itself?
To sit at their feet,
where they judge wrong or right,
and gems take the place
of shells on its shore?

But to see thee once more,
and hear your glad voice!
To feel your embrace
and speak to you again!
O indeed, then indeed,
would my sad heart rejoice
Gladly sailing away
into the Uttermost West.

Until then shall I stay
waiting for the call.
I shall listen for the flutes
and the pipes of the elves
who will lead me out
into the crisp air of Fall
and take me hither
to the Blessed Realm.

There – may it be there!
I might see my friend’s sillouhete
along the gem-strewn
shores, walking, mayhap,
waiting for me to
come; is he waiting yet?
There will I see him?
May it be, Samwise.