The Sun is always glad to rest her ever-weary head
When she reaches that lovely land, the Shire, again.
Where woollen feet tramp merrily
Where ringing voices gossip, heartily
Where Gaffers boom, children shriek
And tankards clink in camaraderie
Have you, too, seen this perfect, well hidden place?
Farms, villages and trees dotted onto a green face.
The Farthings, North, South, East and West
But everyone says that Hobbiton is the best.
There you can find the Gaffer, old with face lined
Still digging in his patch of garden, gruff but kind
Hobbit children gathering up fruit and more sweets
Making merry mischief, and getting under feet
You can always catch a smile from a comely Hobbit maid
In pubs like the Green Dragon, as the Sun does fade
Chairs creaking, fires crackling, glasses rattling
It’s a hub for tales, whether hearing or telling.
Step into Dame Beri’s for bread, a-steaming and sweet
Ovens roaring, customers bustling in from the street
Tip her well and she will treat you even better
But woe betide if you come at the end of the day,
She will be after you, they say, hell for leather!
Fairs there are, festivals and parties galore
With food, merriment, singing and fireworks more
Look to the big Mallorn tree, with leaves silvered and gold
About that tree, far off legends have been told.
Heroes there were, that now have long gone
But still they are remembered, their tales go on.
A Took, a Brandybuck, a Gamgee and two Baggins
Stout of heart they were, and wider in girth and grins
Hobbits who crept out of their comfortable life
They girded with swords and stepped into strife
Riding with Men, they say, the tall Kings of Old
Felling untold dangers, battling malice cold.
They saved the world, the Shire, for all
And still we remember, those Hobbits of old.