[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Bilbo's Man in the Moon poem, reversed by yours truly and Roget's Thesaurus.

Original
There is an inn a merry old inn
beneath an old grey hill,
And there they brew a beer so brown
That the Man in the Moon himself came down
one night to drink his fill

The ostler has a tipsy cat
that plays a five-stringed fiddle;
And up and down he draws his bow,
Now squeaking high, now purring low,
now sawing in the middle.

The landlord keeps a little dog
that is mighty fond of jokes;
When there's good cheer among the guests,
He cocks an ear at all the jests
and laughs until he chokes.

They also keep a horn-ed cow
as proud as any queen;
But music turns her head like ale,
And makes her wave her tufted tail
and dance upon the green.

And O! the rows of silver dishes
and the store of silver spoons!
For Sunday there's a special pair,
And these they polish up with care
on saturday afternoons.

The Man in the Moon was drinking deep,
and the cat began to wail;
A dish and a spoon on the table danced,
The cow in the garden madly pranced,
and the little dog chased its tail.

The Man in the Moon took another mug,
and then rolled beneath his chair;
And there he dozed and dreamed of ale,
Till in the sky the stars were pale
and dawn was in the air.

Then the ostler said to his tipsy cat:
"The white horses of the Moon,
They neigh and champ their silver bits;
But their master's been and drowned his wits,
and the sun'll be rising soon!"

So the cat on his fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle,
a jig that would wake the dead:
He squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune,
While the landlord shook the Man in the Moon
"It's after three!" he said

They rolled the man slowly up the hill
and bundled him into the moon,
While his horses galloped up in rear,
And the cow came capering like a deer,
and a dish ran up with the spoon.

Now quicker the fiddle went deedle-dum-diddle;
the dog began to roar,
The cow and the horses stood on their heads;
the guests all bounded from their beds
and danced upon the floor

With a ping and a pong the fiddle strings broke!
the cow jumped over the moon,
And the little dog laughed to see such fun,
And the Saturday dish went off at a run
With the silver Sunday spoon.

The round Moon rolled behind the hill,
as the sun raised up her head.
She hardly believed her fiery eyes;
For though it was day, to her surprise
They all went back to bed!


Reversed
Here was the jail the sober new jail
above the valley callow,
For here we drain the bread less clear
a Woman outside a sun herself went near
Two days long eating her hollow.

A barmaid lost her straightlaced dog
this works the thrice-snared drum;
Or down or up she beats with club,
Then booming down, then screaming up,
then singing while she thrums.

A tenant lost the mighty cat
most sober and most grave;
Where here's bad news within the folk,
she lumbers in to hear them choke,
Or cries the tears she craves.

We ne'er did lose the bald-faced horse
less humble than every wench;
And silence stiffens her as a corpse,
Her head hangs limp, she sighs perforce
Or slumps down 'neath the bench.

Or not columns of golden pans
or a dearth of golden knives!
Aganst Wednesdays here's the common few,
Or those we've tarnished more than due
in Monday morning's lives.

A woman outside sun is eating scarce,
Or a dog finished his nap;
the pot and the knife under chairs did lie,
a horse in the kitchen demurely sighed,
Or a monstrous cat mice did trap.

A woman outside sun declined a bowl,
Or climbed atop the desk;
Or here she woke and spoke of bread,
Yet nighttime fell, and so she said
That on the sea t'was dusk.

Now the barmaid ran from her deadpan dog:
those black cattle from a Sun,
Moo and ding their golden bells;
For our Mistress's sober and all is well,
And the day is almost done!

Now a dog with a drum beat out fi-fie-fo-fum,
a waltz that could send one to sleep:
She hemmed and she hawed, and she drew it out long,
All the tenants heaved Sun back to where she belonged
"'Tis not yet noon!" they'd bleat.

We shoved the lass roughly down into the dell
Or shimmied her out of the sun,
Lest her cattle plodded cross ahead,
Or a horse lay still as though 'twere dead,
Or a knife divorced a pan.

Then slower the drum came fi-fie-fo-fum;
A cat then ceased to purr,
The horses and cow fell upon their backs;
a landlord smiled and went for a nap
and slept like to wake no more.

Without a sound the drumsticks flew!
a horse tunnelled under the earth,
Or a massive cat sighed to hear such despair,
The pots broke out of their unlikely pairs
and from them the gold knives hurled.

A flat sun scraped across the dell,
while the moon retired to bed.
He quickly distrusted his shadowy nose;
For though the day, like the birds had flown
We all arose instead!

*Mops brow* Whew! That is one long poem.