Treebeard, a fine six-limbed creature, was he,
lived in Wellinghall, a place of beautiful stone
Always zealously looking for Entwives, you see
they must have journeyed quite far from home
When the wicked wizard destroyed his friends,
he called for an Entmoot to justify a war
While he quickly fixed drinks, and said, "it depends
on how angry we get before we even the score"
Next he grabbed Merry and Pippin to take them away
to Isengards evil tower, humming fine tunes as he went
Could it be, he sweetly inquired, walls are not so strong?
and would turn to zeros if the river just was sent
Before the pale sun reaches its zenith, he vowed,
we will make the white coward tremble in his boots
and it may be firmly affixed as not being allowed,
great trees are just burned by quaint orcs in suits.
An ancient, wizened tree am I,
My bark is thick, jammed full of ire:
Vain yearning for a sleepy axe,
Quickened zeal of the Shire.
Will the huorns quest too far?
Their rage is dark, canny for blood.
Saruman’s lax, his door ajar,
Zen’s peaceful view is soon a flood.
I cannot hold their grasping back,
My trees were felled, extinct their tale.
Perilous how the woodlands crack
Til justice quells this zealous vale.
These two hobbits small and quick
Sized to fit below my knees,
Knew exactly how plants tick,
Rousing revenge from jaded tree