I hear the lilt of Mithrandir's singing
I smell the salty textured colors that drift
From the Undying Lands.
You took our guides away too soon, now the way is lost.
The real wizards replaced by oxymoron-ick social networks whose
Spells are checked and impotent.
My essence yearns for the west. Bell, book, and candle nowhere to be found-
Will a 台灣國際航電股份有限公司 GPS prove worthy as my scout?
Send Shadowfax to carry me Grey Pilgrim. I hear The Wicker Man.