Last Saturday was the Summer Poetry Competition, hosted by Nannie. I wrote the poem below about an adventure. It is somewhat inspired by the Bolger lad you meet outside of Budgeford, who has paddled his boat from Frogmorton, run it aground and being subject to a proper scolding from a local bounder. Enjoy! And if yer want to, ter can read more of my poems here.
Down the river
I walked along the riverbank when something caught me eye,
A little bobbing wooden boat beneath the sunlit sky,
Now boats are tricky things, of course, but deep inside I knew,
My inner Took could not resist the call of waters blue.
I thought of the adventure I was bound to have today,
I jumped into the boat and let it slowly float away,
The golden fields of barley softly waved me down the stream,
A journey through the wonders of the Shire is a dream.
I saw a lad, I saw a lass, I saw their warm embrace,
Beneath a weeping willow tree, their laughter and their grace,
They tripped and fell and tumbled on the bank of river sand,
It seemed to me they somehow found this outcome ever grand…
I saw a creaking mill where hobbits carried sacks of flour,
They stacked them high, they stacked them wide, an ever-growing tower,
Until a wicked rascal grinned and pulled a sack away,
The tower of the flour fell and sent me on my way.
I saw a table fully decked, a plate with roasted pork,
A herd of hungry hobbits there, with plate and knife and fork,
The roasted oinker looked around and said it’s time to eat,
It ran away for dinner while the hobbits shared a beet.
I saw a field of strawberries where badgers danced and sang,
A grumpy wolf with night cap on complained and bared a fang,
The dancing and the singing made him lose his beauty sleep,
A wolf must always look his best when chasing curly sheep.
I saw a grumpy gaffer with a heavy oaken staff,
He waved it high, he waved it low, he barked a surly laugh,
He smacked it hard into the ground, a mighty thunderclap,
I saw the rock my boat had hit while I enjoyed my nap…
And there upon the riverbank, adventure met an end,
I yawned and stretched and left the boat, my trusty travel friend,
For floating down the river is a nice and gentle ride,
But rowing back against the stream a slog I can’t abide.