« Antwort #416 am: 16. Sep 2019, 21:49 »
Aghast hath Bilbo fooled us all,
By plot unheard outside his wall;
And queerness findeth welcome place
On that unchanging guileful face.
Voices murmur of a treasure,
Stowed therein, in home of leisure,
Which past adventure once had made
A kingly trophy not to fade.
Come in, my toilsome lot!
Will ye yourselves to rot?
Abroad are perils prying
And many squires lying.
What bringeth you herein,
For grace or earthly sin?
Hither voyage chaps
Drawing but mishaps.
Some speak of eerie dullness
In the nights' scaring fullness,
But seldom have I reckoned
That phantoms one hath beckoned.
My little friends, ye need not hear
This town's whisper; a silly smear.
Get forth ahead to find restore,
Once passed beyond the tavern-door.
Finer post thou hast not!
Rid thyself of woeful thought!
The able merchants here reside:
So great a folk, who rivers ride.
The lake is ever gentle giver.
Of fortune grand he was the weaver.
Yet painful past is hard to go,
As wooden tops were all aglow.
Her black foundations lie
Far under into dry
And cursed benighted kingdom:
The devil's dreadful fiefdom.
His forts on wastelands tower.
His guardians ever glower.
Upon her height burns the Eye,
Wreathed in flame and warring cry.
O wailing stricken teller!
Thy stone to thee was feller.
Harps thou wrungest fain
To sing the Elder Bane.
About the strand thou wast
To mourn the fight ye lost,
For blues and sheer remorse
Have cast away thy force.
« Letzte Änderung: 16. Sep 2019, 21:56 von Walküre »
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