Quite a random poem I have written is this one, and not nearly as dramatic as others.

But hey, whatever, You know the drill. Comments welcome.

Trees, trees, trees, trees,
Restplace for swallows, housing for bees,
Trees, trees, trees, trees,
When I enter the woodland, my weariness flees!

When in the forest I curiously tread,
I look all around, and walk sraight ahead,
And find myself entranced by the beech, oak and elm,
Lords of the forest, gold crowned kings of their realm.

And amongst the straight ash, rowan and yew,
I rest awhile and think "of these there are too few",
But I stop and thank mother nature for all the rest,
And consider myself happy in the woodland so blest.

And in the ancient pine forests I stand still in awe,
Seeing the power of the Earth as it was in days of yore,
Its a mighty sight to see, so many can tell,
I take my red hat off to them, "Fare you well!"

And when my sojourning in forests is done,
And I return to the lands of men built in stone,
And now in the woods I have ate, slept and messed,
Ill return there presently, and say their land is best!!

_________________
"This is the hour of the Shire-folk, when they arise from their quiet fields to shake the towers and counsels of the Great. Who of all the Wise could have foreseen it? Or, if they are wise, why should they expect to know it, until the hour has struck? "