Poem - A hill never climbed
Post date: May 07, 2016 9:31:22 AM
By Ponso Pondhopper
The other day I took a stroll,
With no particular aim in mind.
To pass some time, my only goal;
Perhaps to see what I could find.
Towards the Smials I set my feet;
Followed the crag, beneath the trees.
The sun shone brightly, what a treat!
And on my face a cooling breeze.
At copses' end, I took a right,
And climbed the path with boulders strewn;
Till Tuckborough hove into sight.
I stopped to rest; 'twas nearly noon.
My seat a stone, both wide and flat;
On a branch above, a blackbird trilled,
As in a reverie I sat;
Its endless song my spirits filled.
I thought of all the times I'd been
Sat on this stone, beneath this tree.
Of all the Shire sights I had seen,
And wondered if there was more to see.
And standing up, I spied a hill;
A lonely tree upon its crown.
I had the afternoon to kill,
So from my rock I scrambled down.
I said goodbye to the warbling bird;
Strode off once more across the sward.
The blackbird's song still plainly heard;
It's daring notes that thrilled and soared.
To my left, Great Willow, feet in mire;
To my right, a clump of silver birch.
I climbed the rise, onward and higher,
Determined in my dogged search.
And topping the ridge I saw the mound;
Encircled by a ring of stone.
Around its foot, a cart track wound,
And on its top, a tree, alone.
I scrambled down and crossed the lane;
And now the hill looked tall and bare.
My attempts to climb it were in vain;
No easy footholds anywhere!
But where's there's a will', my Dad would say,
'There's also a way, it can't be denied';
Determined was I to find the way,
And thought to try the other side.
I circled the base along the cliff;
The ground rose steeply by its side.
My legs grew tired, my back was stiff,
As I searched for the path as yet untried.
And then at last I found the way;
A grassy slope that smoothed the rise.
I scrambled up there straight away,
And what a view to meet my eyes!
Beneath my feet, the Farthing Stone,
Bywater beyond and Hobbiton Bridge;
The Party Tree, bedecked, alone,
And further on, The Hill's green ridge.
Here was a sight I'd never seen,
Bindbole wood in midday haze;
The distant Box Hills, blue and green.
More glorious view ne'er met my gaze!
So here I sat an hour, enthralled,
Watching the Water far below;
As through its vale it wound and sprawled.
I really didn't want to go.
But time, it's said, will never wait
For Hobbit, man or dwarf and elf;
The sun was dipping; it was late,
I woke from my daydream, shook myself.
I took a final look around,
And with a heavy heart, descended.
I followed the path that turned and wound;
Another exploration ended.
Odd that until this day I'd never
Climbed this hill, nor seen this sight;
Worth every ounce of my endeavour.
Inspiring view, a rare delight.
I headed home with sprightly gait;
The setting sun, low, in my eyes.
I didn't mind that it was late,
Not after winning such a prize!