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Sorry,
Shakespeare...
This
day is called the feast of ROTK:
She that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named,
And rouse her at the name of Tolkien.
She that shall see this day and live old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast on cheesecake,
And say 'To-morrow is the Anniversary:'
Then will she strip her sleeve and show her tattoos.
And say 'These tatts I had in love of Elvish Lore.'
Most shall forget: yet all shall be forgot,
But we'll remember with advantages
What feats we did that day: then shall our names
Familiar in her mouth as household words
Aragorn the king, Frodo and Samwise,
Merry and Pippin, Gandalf and Eowyn,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good woman teach her daughter;
And PJ’s glory shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But it for we shall be remember'd;
We few, we happy few, we band of sisters;
For she to-day that sheds her tears with me
Shall be my sister; be her ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle her condition:
And gentlefolk in places now a-bed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their fandoms cheap whiles any speaks
That squee’d with us upon ROTK.
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