Poem - The Secret of the Battle of the Greenfields

When Golfimbul woke this very day

He was aching for a Hobbit fray

He dragged his hideous frame off

A soiled sack that was not very soft

The Gobby cook was slopping out

A soup of weeds and piggy snout

Golfy grabbed a filthy bowl

With sharp edges, time had taken its toll

After a lousy night of broken sleep

Golfy was hoping for roasted sheep

Instead he got this watery grub

It tasted foul and contained many slugs

He felt a lurch along his middle

The slugs went down, how they wiggled

“Pass the bread!” he shouted aloud

Over his head hung a dark cloud

His Gobby mates tossed him a hunk

Full of worms and gravelly chunks

Golfimbul cracked another tooth

An awful breakfast, that’s the truth!

Now over in the Hobbit camp

Bullroarer Took had slept like a champ

The night before he’d eaten well

Of apple pie with a sauce of caramel

And before that he’d had roasted chicken

With taters in a broth perfectly thickened

He washed it down with brew from clover

Not so much as to get a hangover

He’d gone to bed with great contentment

And dreamed of a victorious presentment

He was woken feeling quite well rested

Certain that he would not be bested

The smell of bacon warmed his heart

He polished it off with a savoury tart

The charming cook proffered some biscuits

Alongside the tenderest tasty brisket

But best of all he drank his tea

With a touch of honey from the bees

He rose from the table quite refreshed

Ready for battle without undue stress

As the foes approached across the Green

The Goblins looked mean though smelled unclean

But the Hobbits could hear their stomachs rumble

The Gobby’s were hungry and their insides all tumbled

The Hobbit army was quite well fed

With a full stomach, they had nothing to dread

But they paused to have a little snack

Such foresight! They’d packed honey cakes in their packs

The Gobby’s had nothing on which to gnaw

Except for an Aleford poisoned black crow claw

Golfimbul washed that down with sour turnip bile

While our Took quenched his thirst with beer for a while

All the Goblin Chief managed was a baleful glance

Our Took was quick to take aim and grab his chance

Took lobbed a spoiled turnip straight in his mouth

Then knocked off Golfy’s head with a resounding clout

The battle that day was won on good food

The starving Goblins were thoroughly stewed

The moral is that those with the best pies

Will always oust the bad Goblin guys

This was one of three poems by three different poets, made specially for Bullroarer Took Day 2016.