Poem - The House of Hobbit

To order my books:

The Hobbit House

My hobbit house, my COVID-19 retreat, my magnum opus,

a twelve-foot diameter shed I’m building in my back yard.

The limerick green door is six feet in diameter welcoming guests

into The House of Hobbit. The sign ‘Burglars in search of Treasure’

will be inscribed on the door along with Gandalf’s signature.

When my wife is cross with me, she’ll speak ill of my beloved.

She says it takes all my time, ambition, and extra money.

For all the money I’ve spent, I could’ve had a fine shed,

I had to build this monstrosity, this ill-begotten outhouse.

I'll respond. "Leave my hobbit house out of it."

The round windows are portals on a sailing ship to another world.

The foundation is also round; oh, the effort to make something round,

the demon possessed wood fights me to avoid being bent.

I wet it, steam it, and clamp it, yet the wood still refuses

to bend, it finally yields with a loud crack and splinters.

The roof is more than I’m capable of, though I figure and fret.

I build a bit then step back and give it a look, and shake my head,

I dismantle and rebuild until it makes my heart sing.

I’ll soon have the project completed, though I’m in no hurry,

I don’t want this marvelous journey to come to an end.

Grant's Stuff