The Pippin

My apologies to JRR Tolkien and Edgar Allen Poe. :)

Written for this month’s Wee Hobbit LJ challenge, which requested hobbits and food. Be warned, I suck at poetry, even when I have the genius of Poe to work off of. Thankfully, it’s not long. :)
 
 
 

Once upon a spring day hour, while I chopped and diced and scoured
In the kitchen and pantry of the Whitwell farmhouse stores,
While I cured meat from the rumping, suddenly there came a thumping,
As of someone desperate slapping, slapping at the kitchen door.
“Tis some caller,” I muttered, “slapping at the kitchen door,
Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, so distinctly I do recall, in that warm and sunny hall
From whence I firstly heard my dooméd fate upon the door
Curious, I wiped my hands long, lamely thinking nothing so wrong
Could come of answering the call, the call that beat upon the wall
That led to that roundéd door that hid the source of thrall
Thoughtless always, forevermore.

Stupidly, I stretched my hand out, thinking only just to find out
Who was there entreating access to my quiet glorious kitchen.
I put a hand upon the doorknob and opening it I had to sob
For standing there so sweetly and peering up so meekly
In his breeches that were slippin', “I am hungwy,” quoth the Pippin.
And I knew I’d be resting nevermore.
 
 

GF 6/13/06