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So lived the Shire-Danes, eaters of all surveyed
To them a fat lord, Bilbo, whom tribes feared,
Shattered the mead-benches, he, a squat hero.
And unto he, Baggins bold, a Godsend given
Young Frodo, fearless, not-son to Bilbo famed.
Happy they, the Shire-Danes, hoarding food untold.
Shuffled the mighty, shoeless, through scenes idyllic,
A mead-hall guilded, Bag End, of basements most gloried.
Hold! Not unto forever, happiness afford the thanes,
Soon Westward walking, came a staff-wielder wizened
A child of Cain, he, a caustic Storm-Crow cackling
Earles a plenty, came - enough to cause him ponder
Else the mead-hall be wrecked, wronged by causes Elven.
Gamgee vied, met him coming, that Earle of Irish voice
But sent Sam fleeing did the fireworking scourge, fiercely.
Took and Brandybuck, thanes of girdles bursting
Met that greyhamed witch, goaded him not thither wizen.
Twelve years all told, and many torn the Tarnbuckles.
On a tiny river there, trauled untold pyre-boats to
the Havens.
'Til from Grendalf a challenge came, and did the half-men
clamber.
"Meet upon a Weathered-Hill a worried Maia, Mithrandir,
Ye milk-skinned Shire-walkers! Most round of swordsmen!"
Swiftly came the Shire-Danes, small of size, not courage,
For told them on parchment left by Prancing Pony, he:
"Bring that ring, Bilbo's hoard-bauble, and honeycakes!"