By Volko Fastbite The day was bright, the grass was
green, No cloud had yet the blue sky seen, And in the calm of afternoon A hobbit walked, dark-haired and thin. His thoughts were far, across the hill, Where pines stand round the Overhill - They said there was a
little hole, Where lived a girl whose
pies could heal. They said that wounded, sick and ill Came there with hope to Overhill And when they tasted spoken pies Their pain would go. A magic meal! The hobbit heard of those who took One bite and healed. He wished to look For her who crafted magic pies, Because he was himself a cook. From Michel Delving to Waymeet Then Hobbiton, he walked by feet For three long days with stops to sleep And only thirteen times to eat! At last he came, he found the way Just by the end of the fifth day, He saw her – beautiful and light, He stared and had no words to say. She fed him well, he fell in love, Her pies were crispy from above Inside there was a juicy meat Of rabbit or, perhaps, a dove. From then they lived a happy life, He asked her to become his wife, They always cooked her magic pies And even learned to play the fife. The end. Master Volko Fastbite won first prize in the Harnkegger games' Poetry and Story Contest 2015 with the above poem. Master Volko adds, that the poem is almost autobiographical. |
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