Oh, Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
that flies in the night,
in the howling storm,
has found out thy bed
of Crimson joy:
and his dark, secret love
does thy life destroy.
"Rose, where did you get this?" Farmer Cotton demanded, shaking the cream-colored page over Rose Cotton's pale face. "Who wrote this awful thing?"
Rose smiled weakly but happily and snuggled deeper into her sick-bed pillows. "Mr. Frodo wrote it for me. He's...he's so learned and so beautiful...and Sam! Sam left me the flowers..." She waved a languid arm at the windowsill and Farmer Cotton glowered at the lilies that had appeared there overnight. "Sam is so strong...and so loving...he loves me." She pointed at the paper. "Mr. Frodo loves me."
"Tom!" Farmer Cotton shouted and his son appeared at the door. "Go get your mother." Tom nodded once and ran out of sight.
Rose shook her head from side to side and a tear landed on her linens. "I was so sad. I thought I would have to choose between them when they came back and I couldn't, couldn't, couldn't do it. But I don't have to, now!" Her eyes were joyful. Hopeful. Relieved. "I can have them both!"
"You can't have EITHER!" Farmer Cotton shouted, worried enough to shatter the peace of Rose's sick-room. "They're dead! They didn't come back! Master Meriadoc didn't come back! Master Peregrin didn't come back! All four died! They're dead!"
A humorous expression that was three shades short of sly appeared on Rose's face. "Yes, they're dead. And now Estella Bolger is also dead as is Diamond Took of the Long Cleeve Tooks..."
"Who told you?" her father gasped. "No one was to tell you..."
"Mister...I mean..." Rose smiled blissfully. "I mean...Frodo told me. He introduced me to Diamond. She was pretty before but you should see her now." Rose's voice dropped into a parody of the genteel accents of the Long Cleeve gentry. "'I'm so very pleased to have you join us, Miss Cotton.' Oh, Dad, they're so sweet. As sweet as cool water and so loving..."
"Tom!" Farmer Cotton shouted as he went out the door in a frenzy. "Tom!"
Rose turned to the window and stretched her hand out towards the golden sunset. Her callused but graceful fingers stroked through the ending-light and she moaned. "And their lips are so very red, indeed."
Frodo's poem by William Blake
~