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There once was a dwarf. Yes a dwarf, you heard right!
Whose homeland was captured by a mean old sprite,
One who breathed fire, ate folks just for pleasure,
Who dreadfully wanted this old dwarfs treasure.
And so with fire, with claws, with wings like hurricane,
He came, he saw, and he ate dwarves like sugarcane.
He ravaged, he stole, and conquered this land,
And leaving most dead, but the rest with one last desperate plan…
Did the dare, did they darest, darest hope,
That their country, their home, their dearest mountain slope,
Lay in the hands…… of a hobbit?
 Oh, the Hobbit who loved food, drink and green things,
The Hobbit who would laugh, dance and sing,
This Hobbit who thought not proper to have adventures,
Who enjoys peace and quiet and all sorts of thirst quenchers.
Oh yes, this hobbit, in he lay all stock,
Their last hopes lay in him, and to him, what shock!
Thirteen dwarves, on his doorstep, rudely came in, 
And lay their plan barest out in front of him.
Bilbo was his name, and dearest me, he was troubled,
But in the end, he came to a conclusion from the rubble,
That though he loved his so much his food drink, and home,
These poor dwarves had nothing, least of all a home to call their own,
And so rallying courage, strength, but not greed,
He worked with precision, quietly and with great speed,
To conquer these obstacles that stood in his way,
But in the end, it was love that came and saved the day.

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