[Verse] Back to Bag End, back at last, Though half the Shire had written me past— Auction lists and whispered claims, Sackville-Baggins counting frames. I told them I was living still; They frowned as though it spoiled the thrill. Ah well… that’s cousins for you. Some folk cheer, and some folk stew. I found my chair where it had been, The cushion worn, the stuffing thin. It welcomed me, but not the same— A hobbit changed is not to blame. For once you’ve heard the Elves at night, And seen a dragon’s dreadful light, A sensible life feels soft and small, Though pleasant, yes—just not as tall As it once seemed before the road Put wonder in my heart to load. [Verse] So I took up my pen again, And set my memories down with care; A tale is best in ink and rhyme To keep it safe from thinning time. And now you four have heard it through— Every riddle, every brew, Every dwarf and every fright, Every star in every night. Frodo listens as he ought, Quiet mind and steady thought. Samwise too—good lad, good ear, Heart as deep as harvest cheer. But Merry, Pippin—gracious me, You’ve wriggled like a pair of fleas. If goblins grabbed you by the feet, You’d laugh before you missed a beat. A poorer audience I’ve not had— Though I suppose you’re not all bad. [Verse] Well, that’s the end. The tale is told. There and back, with courage bold. If ever you wander past the Hill, Remember the world is wider still. And if you find some foolish quest, Write it down and do your best— For stories keep the Shire awake, And hearts grow larger for their sake. Now off you go—go on, go on. Your mothers will think you’ve up and gone. I won’t have fretting at my door; I’ve had enough of that before. So run along to hearth and ham, And leave an old hobbit as I am. Your dinners wait, your evenings call— Go find your own adventures, all.
