Poetry Monday :: Ancestor ... Not Mine

Mimi of Messymimi's Meanderings and Diane of On the Border  are taking turns supplying us with a topic for this weekly endeavour. They also always write wonderful, either funny, thought-provoking, ingenious or simply good verse. Go and read.
   Jenny at Procrastinating Donkey is taking a break due to her husband's ill health. Let's send warm thoughts, good energy and lots of prayers their way. 

  Today I am feeling run down, hung up, and sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread, for this reason I won't be participating in Poetry Monday with a verse of my own. But participate I will. I always felt related to the Hobbits. Frodo and Bilbo, Merry, Pippin, Sam and all the other Hobbits are among my ancestry - at least in the spirit. 
  I'm off to have my second breakfast, and so I'll let J.R.R. Tolkien speak for me:  

Lament For Gandalf - by Frodo 
When evening in the Shire was grey
his footsteps on the Hill were heard;
before the dawn he went away
on journey long without a word.

From Wilderland to Western shore,
from northern waste to southern hill,
through dragon-lair and hidden door
and darkling woods he walked at will.

With Dwarf and Hobbit, Elves and Men,
with mortal and immortal folk,
with bird on bough and beast in den,
in their own secret tongues he spoke.

A deadly sword, a healing hand,
a back that bent beneath its load;
a trumpet-voice, a burning brand,
a weary pilgrim on the road.

A lord of wisdom throned he sat,
swift in anger, quick to laugh;
an old man in a battered hat
who leaned upon a thorny staff.

He stood upon the bridge alone
and Fire and Shadow both defied;
his staff was broken on the stone,
in Khazad-dûm his wisdom died.
     (Fellowship of the Ring, Book 2)