only a garment to warm a small hobbit,
a simple weave, sewn long ago
yet this cloak can tell silent tales
of many long miles.
A pointed hood, a simple clasp
fabric creased from long, long use
but the stains on the weave
and the tears in the green
bear witness to many hard journeys.
On the left shoulder, nearly hidden
a small, stained tear lies, now repaired.
Once it was made by a cold knife piercing
and stained by the warm, red blood,
on a cold, windy night full of mists.
Small stains could be found, maybe
telling where tears of sorrow fell
when his shoulders were bowed with grief;
when the worn green was pressed to his cheeks
hiding the sorrow, taking the tears
of a loss too great to imagine.
A stain left by ash in the depths of a mountain
a small mossy piece of a birch-tree�s twig
a bit of a mallorn-leaf, once silvery-grey
each tell of a moment, now past and gone
in the travels of a small weary hobbit.
It is only a cloak, of dark faded green,
only a garment to ward off the cold,
but once it was woven especially for him.
Now it bears marks from a long weary journey
many a tale can the faded cloak tell.
-Frodo Baggins
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