Of the many poems I added to the proceedings, this was my favourite;
Now, once, although his time is long due
There was old man, dressed in blue
he never wandered far from his home
There were many, who would pick a bone,
With him while he still had time
So he'd sit and wait till the weather was fine.
He'd dance about while some made a toast,
to the business of the one who'd boast,
No one would catch the old man in his land
But there are no battlements that are manned
While the old dogs howl with sadness
We know that the willow grows in madness
No one has ever caught him, he's the master
Do you know him? No one is faster.
He'll never be seen down by a mill,
His name is Tom Bombadill!