The Neverending Limerick Story 4
Taken from the ongoing Word Games section of the Storyteller's
So Hob scratched the entwife's limbs,
Trying to humor her whims.
Being frightened of height,
He holds white-knuckle tight,
To the acorns in her ears as she swims.
Then, 'pop!', the acorns let loose,
Sending Hob flying like a goose.
He lands in the river,
(in mud to his liver),
"Can you hear me now?" he calls for a truce.
The Entwife kept walking along
Never noticing that Hob was gone
But soon appear Bob
And behind him was Nob
And, being hobbits, they broke into song.
But now, what were they going to do?
By now Barliman would be in a stew!
So continue they went
Off to look for an Ent
Or just a pint of the Gaffer's home brew.
You know what they say about Breelanders:
They're stranger than Tooks and Bag-Enders!
They often go trotting,
Singing and sotting,
Along an old road that meanders!
Yes, Hob, Nob and Bob were astray,
They couldn't doubt that for day!
For a map they might long,
But instead they turned wrong,
And went bumbling and swigging away.
Hob, Nob and Bob felt so free
Till they tired, these brave hobbits three
They started to sag
their feet to drag
So they curled up right under a tree
The tree that they used for a pillow
Was none other than the Old Man Willow
So as they napped,
Soon they were trapped,
And in need of dear Tom Bombadill-o!
Old Tom now a-where was he jumpin'?
Near the lily-pond he was a-clumpin' -
His yellow boots muddy,
His cheeks pink and ruddy,
Among all the reeds he was bumpin'.
His head was down deep in the lilies,
When he heard echo down all the hillies
A loud wooden creaking,
A snoring and squeaking,
And came splashing out willy-nilly!
"It's dark in here," cried our dear Nob.
Near to him, he heard ol' Bob sob
The tree was malicious
and hobbits delicious
when squeezed like poor Nob, Bob and Hob.
"That tree is a playin' the juicer!"
Cried Tom as he sluiced like a sluicer.
But in just a wink,
You'll see what I think -
"No more Hobbit-Juice! Willow, be looser!"
Past Saddle and Archet they went
towards Wilderland, Nob did lament
til wolves he heard howl
with orcs on the prowl
he questioned if time was well spent.
For he'd rather be running about
Prancing Pony, pouring ales and stouts
as customers pay
and Barliman says,
"I run 'round too much, and no doubt!"
Ol' Tom was left scratchin' his head,
Wondering where they had fled -
The tree let them loose,
And they ran as if goosed
Off past Archet was where they seemed led.
Bits of willow twigs sticking in hair,
And a leaf or two sprinkled their wear,
By their rapid departure,
Seem'd drawn to new fates by their cares.
The hobbits were worried at first
Then Bob, through lips that were pursed
said, "Of all we could do
Or wander into
This is bad, but it isn't the worst!"
So that cheered their spirits immensely
And they went along singing intensely
Till there on the ground
Some old runes they found
And they stared at them puzzling quite densely.
"What is this strange writing we see?"
"'Tain't like what's been shown to me -
I know letters few,
Labelin' keg, cheese and stew,
But these words are a great myster-y."
I learn-ed my letters a few
But these seem entirely new
Now who can be reading
these runes I'm a seeing
Oh, what am I ever to do?
"How 'bout that old Ranger we spied,
The one wearing smelly ol' hide?
He might know more letters
Than some of his betters,
Bein' wanderin' an' not gentry-fied."
'Round these parts, Strider's his name
And walking real far is his game
They say he's a Ranger
To me he's a danger
I'd keep a wide berth, just the same
Yet still, he seems fairer than foul
and of smarts, he has plenty - and how!
Why once I was sick
and just lightning quick
He fixed me up right, somehow.