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 backyard.

The limerick green door welcomes guests into The House of Hobbit.

The sign ‘Burglars in search of Treasure’

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."

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 refuses to yield,

In the end, I take a hundred straight sections of wood,

And have them pretend to be a single curved beam.

The roof, a turret from a castle, is more than I’m capable of.

I figure, I fret, and I build a bit, then step back and give it a look,

I learn that not everything I design can be built, ugh!

I shake my head and try a different approach.

I dismantle and rebuild until it makes my heart sing.

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

Oh, the joy of dreaming, then making it a reality.

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

I don’t want this marvelous journey to end.

In this adventure, it's not the destination, but the journey.

Grant's Stuff