Seems like everyone's gone away but me. Mister Frodo and Old Mister Bilbo are gone, gone, over the sea where I can't reach them. And Merry and Pippin. Great in their time they were. The Shire never had a better Master or Thain. But they're dead, lying beside kings and such away south.
Even Rosie rests her head beneath the apple tree behind Bag End.
I promised Mister Frodo I wouldn't be torn in two. I tried to forget the waves' crash against the beach. But I wonder whether any ship waits at the Havens. The Sea still calls me.