Sweet smellin’ soil, the trickling of fresh dirt through stained fingers. ‘Tis strength to me and mine, to be sure, living by the land, by toiling and the sweat of your brow. Satisfaction’s found in a fine turned row, a tree full to bursting, a well tended garden.
Though Frodo were my master, when all is said an’ done ‘tis only the land what matters. Only the land lasts forever. Only it never fades – never dies. Only it don’t go away.
The earth is my only master now, and by the turning of the seasons, I’ll mark this here life.