Wandering, wandering through the Shire,
across gently rolling hills and woodlands.
A peaceful country, far from Mordor's fire,
Frodo and his friends make their plans.
I'll move to Crickhollow, in Buckland,
quiet house, some distance from the road.
Down in a valley where tall pines stand,
find six stout ponies to carry the load.
There we can enjoy a tranquil life,
walks in the woods and good food to eat.
Days without all this worry and strife,
no questions, to be asked, before we sleep.
Evil black shadows creep down the lane,
bringing with them fear, sorrow and pain.