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Frodowulf
 

 

 		 So lived the Shire-Danes, eaters of all surveyed,
Among them a fat lord, Bilbo, whom tribes feared.
Shattered the mead-benches he, a squat hero.
And unto that 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 gilded, Bag End, of basements most gloried.
Hold! Not unto forever, could 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 at Prancing Pony he,
"Bring that Ring, Bilbo's hoard-bauble, and I'll have honeycakes!"
-by Jerry Spiller