Over the Hills

From Nothing of Note

Over the hills, drawn to the fire
Come all the lads, lasses fine attired;
See how they dance, stepping to the song,
Parties and cheer, here where they belong.

How the sun shines on the lasses,
The lads with bright eyes,
In their homes filled with cheer,
May their songs never die.

To every home, 'neath every tree,
For every season this will always be;
Families and friends in light of fire,
Loyal and true, hobbits of the Shire.

To tables filled, to the glasses too,
Lifting in toasts everyone they knew,
Hobbits of past, same as today,
Songs never change, never fade away.

How the sun shines on the lasses,
The lads with bright eyes,
In their homes filled with cheer,
May their songs never die.
- Primula