odd

Yesterday, in the evening, I was at Mr. Brablo’s library.
Upon arriving, I was actually quite shocked: I found him sitting down in his chair, sleeping. Waking up, it seemed as though he had slept since noon, or so, but I did not say much on the matter: his sleeping habits are his own, of course.

It was yesterday that I had visited Mr. Brablo’s home.
His burrow was grand, and every piece of furnishing inside seemed to bring the other pieces together: paintings, sculptures, and maps. Several bookshelves lined the walls, also, which sparked a great deal of joy in me – I was standing in the burrow of an author that I admire, and everywhere his books were.

My home in Barleywick is quite something: the locals are already questioning my odd habits, I do believe. Though I have yet to swim, or boat – for which I fear I shall receive a great many stares.

Once upon a time there was a hobbit called Bobberry.
Bobberry Oddtoes, to be precise.
Or to be more precise, he was of the family Hardtoes
But he was always considered a bit odd, and so folk called him Oddtoes instead

He lived on the edge of Bindbole wood, away from other hobbits
Which suited the hobbits in Overhill fine
As Bobbery seemed to like running through the woods
Making strange hooting noses, shouting "I'm an oliphant!"

—What do you see, Talgoy? —An odd voice speaks. Its voice doesn’t seems human, being too deep and with a raspy voice. After some seconds, Talgoy responds with a laconic voice.