This is a poem about wishing to be in Tolkien's Middle Earth.
|I went walking outside today,
A gentle breeze on my face did play.
And violets marched a hundredfold,
Reminding me of days of old.
My inside cat outside I did bring,
For she longed for what she had seen,
With her nose pressed against the window pane,
Dreaming of being outside again.
I walk among the towering trees,
Swaying gently in the breeze,
And think of the hidden paths that run,
East of the moon, west of the sun.
I think with longing of the days,
When childlike wonder had its way.
When happily outside I did play,
Journeying to places so far away.
I think of Middle Earth, my dear,
Wondering how far when it is so near.
A simple wish could bring me there,
And leave this life without a care.
Where elves dance in the woodland breeze,
And climb the branches of swaying trees,
Where laughter rings upon all sides,
And the roving Ranger rides.
I sense how near I am to there,
And search for the path - Where is it, where?
But no, a tree commands me stay,
With a lowered branch to block my way.
‘It is not time,’ it says to me.
And so I have to let it be.
Walking off with backward looks,
To the land I know in tales and books.
I seek for a place I have never seen,
Only pictures on the movie screen,
Or my own imagination,
Have given life to my temptation.
Letting books be my guide,
Here in the modern day must I bide.
Putting away all thoughts that dwell,
With hobbits and elves in Rivendell.
Yet part of me will walk there still,
Whether young and gay or old and ill.
My spirit flies among the trees,
And mourns that it cannot feel the breeze,
From passing elves, or walking trees,
Or dwarves and hobbits, taking their ease,
In an evening walk, with a pleasant talk.
I beg that others shall not mock,
The preoccupation that I have,
With elven ladies and hobbit lads.
Or a certain elven Prince who caught my eye,
With beautiful looks that make me shy.
I walk the boundaries of Mirkwood in my heart,
And never, ever shall I part,
With one moment spent in dreams of there,
Oh, where is the path? Where is it? Where?
But such sights are not for me,
Guardian of my own forest must I be,
Keeping it from all woodcutter’s axes,
Paying my bills and the taxes.
Spoiling my cats, and my dog,
Yet somehow it just seems wrong.
That far away, in another time,
Another place, another rhyme,
Elves defend their border stones,
And a Ranger walks alone.
Orcs invade Lothlorien in my heart,
And Men walk in increasing dark.
I seek the wood of golden trees,
Just a moment there to take my ease,
Then ride out to defend the world,
Arrows shot and spears hurled.
Desperate defense and the night passes,
Yet could I do anything without my glasses?
Could I aim a bow, or fight so well,
That elves would take me in and tell,
Me that I could help defend their borders?
Just imagine, me taking orders!
Or will I always dwell apart,
From the land within my heart?
Forever seeking, and never finding,
I walk on a path treacherous and winding.
Among the people of modern day,
Never will you hear them say,
“Fell deeds awake!”
Or even take,
An interest in the world around them,
When they do, it will astound them.
Alas, for Middle Earth! I would,
Go in an instant, if I could.
But my path lies here,
Though yet unclear.
I walk in the woods all alone,
And trip upon a large stone.
As though engraved with runes, it says to me,
“What you wish can never be.”
I walk back to the house, a little sad,
Thinking of adventures I could have had,
If only the place of my birth,
Had been among elves, in Middle Earth.