He no longer loved and regressed
In his cave he began to obsess
Over so small a thing
To which he would cling
It's mine, my own, my precious.
There once was a very thin slinker,
In spite of his swims still a stinker -
Fishing turned on its head,
Catching angler instead
When he caught that Ring hook, line and sinker.
There once was a treacherous guide
Who led into a tunnel to hide.
Seeing how that one went,
With duplicitous bent,
They were not too surprised when he fried.
Repetition was Gollum's first pick,
His inanities, how they did stick!
In their fingers they dug,
Wishing for some earplugs,
As of babblings they both were soon sick.
Precious this, precious that was his rote,
On and on like a stubborn old goat,
Til at last there's no doubt
That his jaws plumb wore out
When the lava shrunk them to a mote.