A Sonnet of love and sorrow:
Oh my precious, my dear birthday present
In this moment I hold thee above,
After a long and arduous ascent,
I have returned to thee that I love.
You shine brighter than yonder yellow face;
Blind am I to this life, this world I hate:
Of fisssh, toothless, tasteless, leaving no trace.
“Gullum, Gullum.” I have become of late.
Yet, I, Smeagol, promise never to leave.
Hard fought, I stand upon these rocky grounds.
Never again to part, never to grieve.
Death I have forsaken in your gold bounds.
Now, as you descend in the fire with me;
My precious, eternity will I have with thee.