Oh, to be at the table Where they sat With pints and pipes and words Visiting Numenor or Archenland or Malacandra Soaking in the beauty of the story But I am too preoccupied with my own story Dreaming of how to expand my fame or my bank account While my soul shrivels The Wizard knocks but I don't answer Afraid (or unwilling) to join the Party I'd buy a round and share this poem And Lewis would tell me that I got the meter all wrong And I would be content Because I would be at home Known among friends
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