poetry

See the naughty hobbit
He's sitting on the chair
Keep your eyes close on him
For he gets everywhere

Throwing on an old cloak
He walks out with a bound
Looking to make mischief
Anywhere it's found

Sneaking into orchards
And taking lots of fruit
Filling up an old sack
With lots of apple loot

Scaring hobbit children
That play in the long grass
Acting like a goblin
They cry and run home fast

The Brandywine
So very fine
It sparkles blue
In bright Sunshine

What does it hide
On the far side
Have heroes crossed?
Have many tried?

With pack in hand
And feeling grand
Just cross the bridge
Depart these lands

The road lies true
Ahead of you
The Brandywine
Now lost from view

Far out the bounds
Just walk around
And marvel at
The sights and sounds

Let's take a trip into the woods
And walk amongst the trees
Where songs of birds do fill the air
And sounds of rustling leaves
But gentle footsteps can be heard
A tapping on the ground
And rustling in the undergrowth
As Badgers move around!
Now wouldn't it be very good
To see some Badgers in the woods

Yende learned this song a long time ago, a song of one of the companies she fought in. Though a hopeful-sounding song, this makes the heart of a soldier sad... because they remember who they shall not see again in the morning.

So there he stands
All on his own
A barley field
He calls his home
On mud and stones
His legs do rest
He looks lonely
And not well-dressed

A threadbare coat
He wears with pride
Though bits of straw
Poke out the sides
And badly tied
A scarf of red
An old top hat
On top his head

In rain and wind
He's always there
A thankless task
For no-one cares
All day he stares
At passing crows
And rats that gnaw
At his straw toes

Reiven raised on her toes to reach out the upper shelves of the bookstand, trying hard to pull the blue covered book out. Suddenly the book released from its place causing another one fall onto the ground loudly. She felt her cheeks burning of embarrassment as all the disapproving glances turning over.

What is that in the stream?
That is swimming about
Is it Sturgeon or Bream?
A Bitterling or Trout?
And what's that on it face?
Are they whiskers I see?
So it can't be a Dace
A catfish it must be!

See it swimming at speed
It is keen to be fed
Quickly darting through weeds
On the cold river bed
And with piercing eyes
It sees something that squirms
Is it not a small fly
But a fat juicy worm!

This song was sung to wandering Hobbits the Elves of Linna na Gelaidh met on their travels. It is, as Tolkien would say, nonsense but fair nonsense.

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