How do we do it?
How many quests?
How many fellowships
formed and broken,
going on to separate ways?
Doesn’t the heart rub a bit
sore after each parting?
Are we fools thinking
our’s the most arduous journey,
a long trek into Mordor,
to scale the heart of Doom?
Are we a bit of Merry weather
and Pippin riding on a shoulder
of an ancient forest?
Do we fight the Nazgul?
Are we foot soldiers
once more going into the breach?
We go truth be told
with no magic, no ring,
just cheerful Hobbits with secondsies,
snacks between full meal,
brief taste between breakfast,
and lunch, filling ourselves with joy.