Baggins

The hours pass into the mist and I have lost the way.
The day grows dark and threatening, and night begins to creep
Upon the edges of my eyes, and I see shadows deep
Flicker against what was the brightness of the day.
And yet as all begins to tend towards black through mottled gray--
While all kind sounds are silenced, and the mind prepares to leap
Towards danger and towards worry, and will start at every cheep--
I cannot help but think of you, and what I think you'd say
And even in my mind alone, without a hint of sound
Without the blessing of your face, or of the slightest clue
That you are anywhere near me, or know where I have strayed
Your conjured voice convinces me that somehow I am found:
That everything will be all right, and I will stumble through
Without the path, and yet with you, and therefore unafraid.