What do you see, when you first look at me?
You see the hat, of course, its band filled with bits.
A pipe, a flower, an acorn or two, even a feather blends well in its brim.
What next might you see, when you stop to see me?
The midnight garb? The cloak or cane?
Hidden pockets, holding a trove of treasures?
Always the knitting, the flask and the treat
The silver white hair, still errant and bold, though time has taken its toll.
The laugher and smiles, the twinkle in the eye, the wrinkles showing a life well lived.
This is what you see, when you look at me…
Yet…
These hands are still strong, though time brings aches.
They bring life into the world, and a smile to mothers faces.
They sooth the brow when fever rages, a poultice, a potion all tools to be used.
They cleanse and bandage, spreading calm to the spirit.
And at times of sorrow… in the darkest of days…
These hands will prepare for that final of journeys.
These feet have trodden more lands, than you think.
Eight times a year, the bounds they do tread.
Bringing luck and prosperity to the Shire-stead.
This head is filled with knowledge so old, of flower and thorn, of herb and root
When to pick, when to leave and what’s best for the soul.
And what goes right with a perch from the river!
Yet….
What do I see, when I look at me?
I still see a maiden fair, who runs through fields with copper coloured hair.
The lass, eternal young with no cares in the world.
Who thinks good of all, and is willing to learn.
I see the mother holding her children close.
Soothing their cries, and teaching them notes.
Pies are baking, clothes they do dry and a song isn’t far from my lips.
But children do grow and life will not stop.
I see sadness, and pain as life falls away.
The circle of life, is the circle of hurt.
Yet, full circle we come Maiden, Mother and Crone.
Each to their own, is how it should be.
What do you see, when you first look at me?
I do not know….
I know, I see….
Me….
