A poem by JRR Tolkien. This appears in The Fellowship of the Ring, recited by Bilbo just after he has given Frodo his old sword and his old shirt of mithril. Remember that when Bilbo left The Shire, early in the book, it was in hopes of venturing far and wide again, perhaps as far as Laketown and the Lonely Mountain again, places he had visited in his earlier adventures. But once he was past the influence of the One Ring, all of his accumulated years caught up with him and he lived out most of his old age as a guest in Rivendell.
This poem speaks to me a little more each time I encounter it, and I consider this any time anyone questions JRRT’s skill as a writer.
