Im old and grey, my day is done,
The storm behind me grows in pow'r,
My time evading it is almost gone,
I approach the end, my final hour.

And midst the iron grey clouds I see,
Visions of memories of a far better day,
And the saddest of these, contain only she,
I loved her more than paltry words can say.

I loved her as the sound of the seas waves,
crashing onto shores, the gulls calling me there,
But never again will the storm my heart brave,
Or try to win your affection, never again dare.

The storm is upon me, my time is o'er,
And as I leave this realm of dust and tears,
I wish you long life,gladness evermore,
And in my stead another, to comfort your fears.

_________________
"This is the hour of the Shire-folk, when they arise from their quiet fields to shake the towers and counsels of the Great. Who of all the Wise could have foreseen it? Or, if they are wise, why should they expect to know it, until the hour has struck? "