Rolling green as far as the eye can see.
Holes in the ground!
What and odd thing,
That folk unknown to today’s common world,
have lived and prospered in this green tilled earth.
In holes, yes indeed!
But not dark and dreary,
Cozy and warm as a midsummers day,
packed with comforts… for Hobbits there stay.
A quaint little folk,
with hearts full of gold.
No cares for trouble or riches at all.
Only love for good meals, pipe weed and friends,
with which they lived happily until their days end.
The Farthings of the Shire,
divided in four,
Were all these halflings needed, no more.
Unnoticed by others in this far off land.
Evil had halted, not yet laid it’s hand.
Hobbits that lived in this wondrous place,
bore brown curly hair for the lot of their race.
They never wore shoes, for they had not a need.
But were handy indeed in a great many things.
Walking on tilled green land.
Only Hobbits you see can completely understand,
No adventures at all, excitement not welcome.
Odd to us now but to them it was heaven.
A place that I wish for so dear in my heart,
For in our world now we remember it not.
To look upon those wonderful folk.
To see the land and the homes in the holes.
To laugh and drink brew at the Green Dragon Inn.
With merry hobbits who I could call friends.
What I would give to visit this realm.
Its charming quaintness… to live under ground.
I imagine life was often well in the Shire,
one that I myself certainly admire.