poetry

I ask of you to only accept my love, I ask not that you love me.
I ask of you to release the grab you have of my heart, I ask you not to embrace it.
I ask of you to free me of your spell, I ask not that you shall bind me.

Alone, alone, alone.

A narrow road, does not feed an empty heart.

The war, the war inside of her.

The tears, the tears are flowing, like a river.

Where is this woman going? 

She is going on the narrow road, walking on empty dreams.

Someone, save her.

Someone, save her.

The lady, the lady her home is gone.

Her past becomes her present.

A hero, a hero she is.

But she does not know how to help herself.

She walks on the narrow road, where few follow.

Where is their courage?

An old man was sitting
And wearing a hat
A young lad came over
And started to chat
"Can I ask about that?"

The young hobbit asked:
"What's under the hat?"

"Are you keeping a pet"
"So warm in your hat?"
"I imagine it nestling"
"On your hair, is it sat?"
"Is it a rat?"

In the deepest winter days
The nights are all too long
All gone the birds from once green trees
And with them all their songs
With little light to fill past days
There may not be much to cheer
Don't dwell on all the days behind
For now comes a whole new year!

A Troll he groaned and sat and stared
At bones of goats he'd eaten there
And skulls of orcs, and goblins too
That he had baked into a stew
And strewn around within a pit
Some rats he'd roasted on a spit
So many creatures great and small
Whatever moved, he'd eat them all

Part One

Now Letti Sweettoe was a lass
Who lived by Tuckborough Hall
And every Sunday she would work
At cleaning round Great Smials
For with her duster in her hand
She'd sweep and wipe all round
The dust was blown from off the books
And cobwebs brushed all down

Each morning I check on my post box
To see what the fast post's brought me
It's quite a surprise
To see what's inside
I wonder what post there may be

It's often a letter from family
To give all the news from Woodhall
Or from Uncle Bill
With news from The Hill
I eagerly read through them all

And then there is often a leaflet
The Gazette! It is such a fine read

The Mayor, he built a large Town Hall
He thought that big was best of all
By folk preferred it was built small
For small is beautiful

Just look at Hobbits all around
The smallest folk that can be found
Some old, some young, some thin, some round
Yet all are beautiful

This poem too, is none the worse
For having just the three short verse
You seldom need so many words
For small is beautiful

O treasured maiden,
aloft am I, affixed~

within thy sensual smile.

Spellbound, I gaze upon
radiant beauty, adorned~

only in pearls to beguile.

Subdued moments in twilight,
whiled away in silence~

 descending.

Silhouetted by Autumn moon;
mine very soul, encharmed~

ascending.

I stand before thee, mystified,
cradled in amorous embrace~

delighted.