Alternative Ending

Gandalf sloped back to Gondor
with a burning eye of shame on his cheeks,
his staff no more than a walking stick,
hat in his grizzled hand,
flapping behind him like a windsock.

His team of outcasts, half-wits and Halflings
didn’t make it past the first wave
of Mordorian hordes, surprise surprise.
The one ring looks pretty
on Sauron’s charred finger.
Gandalf’s horse is the centre piece
of a dark clan’s victory feast.
The shire’s a brothel
for passing orcs.