Book/Source: The Fellowship of the Ring
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The Old Forest grows ancient. I remember when the scent of apples was new, when it inspired songs, and stories, and poetry. That same scent lingers still, redolent with half-remembered dreams and wandering melodies, but it seems ever distant now. The apples have begun withering faster now than they used to, and when I gaze upon the bare trees as the turn of the year draws close, my skin grows thin as the most fragile leaf, and the cold penetrates to my very bones. If only the world were young again. If only dawn could shine again, red and sweet.