by Peter Gent

‘You cannot pass,’ said he, despite his foe.
Then all the Orcs stood still among the stone;
Retreated eight, dead silence fell, and woe.
No fellowship-for Gandalf’s will alone
Did face the Balrog’s dreams when he did leave
His morbid home and search a higher life.
‘No pass,’ said Gandalf, ‘shall you e’er achieve!
Distinction? Ha! A fantasy too rife.’
‘Unless,’ smirked he, ‘a paper under stress,
A thesis written, and those essays too.
And so, comply! Examiners shall bless
not ever, if refuse were you to spew.’
‘And to what end?’ as Gandalf walked away.
Mt Doom, the end; ‘extortion’ one could say.

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