And you Gollum,
I'd say I am a spinner of apples
Hoping for pies,
A climber of trees
In October skies
And I would be telling
No lies.

And Gollum...
Poor Gollum,
Dweller under the mountain,
Avoider of Orcs,
Fugitive of men,
No longer hobbit,
Eater of pale fish,
You might pause...
Remember just a moment
Hands without claws,
Built for climbing apple trees,
Up in an autumn breeze...
Hands made for reaching
Apples ready for picking.

And you might remember
Cinnamon scents
Of apple tarts and pies
Bubbling fragrant spices
In an oven hot,
Waiting for
A slice
Of cheese,
And your pipe
After.