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Drabbles on Hobbits; a Generous Bakers' Dozen
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March 13

Hobbits, all alone.


Swiftly we ride, but terror is swifter; my lady's pale and silent, holding me in the saddle. Pippin, I'm coming, I won't leave you alone.

The Ring singing lies, the orcs cackling truth, that Stinker lurking in the darkness, but Mr. Frodo's needing aid, and none's here but me alone.

Captain Faramir burns, Lord Denethor grieves, Gandalf is gone to marshal the defences, and how I miss Merry, as I watch here alone.

Dim light and harsh voices; I'm naked and captive. Sam is lost, we have lost, the Ring's returned to its Master; all is lost, and I despair alone.


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