Tuesday, 10 September 2013

The Tone Deaf Minstrel

Mousey the Minstrel was renown
For his ‘talent’ in his singing
His tone deafness, to him, unknown
Villagers’ ears would be ringing!

For those who heard his awful voice
Would howl in pain and hold their ears
“Give us silence and we’ll rejoice!
We’ve tolerated him for years!”

One night when Mousey was in bed
The townsfolk made an evil plot
“We’ll cut away those strings instead,
Then all his songs can be forgot!”

The folks crept up to his small house
With a ladder to the first floor
“We will creep in through like a mouse
And his songs will be nevermore!”

They approached his bed, scissors ready
To cut the strings of his dear lute,
Holding their weapon a-steady
When one man tripped! SMASH! “Shh!! Be mute!”

“Hey! Who goes there?” the dwarf cried out
Poor Mousey’s heart was now racing
“How did all of this come about?”
Standing now, to the group facing.

“We wish you stop and hear us speak:
You are tone deaf, silly Minstrel!
You do not hum, you rather squeak,
You do not sing, you simply yell!”

Mousey replied, boastful and proud
“I am a dwarf of Khazad Dum,
Yes dwarves will shout, I am allowed!

Now leave me be or I’ll kick your bum!”

A Warden Afraid of Splinters

A Warden of noble descent
In the Old Forest he would dwell,
With beard brown and javelin bent
This strange fear we could not foretell:

To some of us we fear the dark,
Insect bites or a mighty height.
But to our brave Friend of the Mark
A splinter can be quite the fright.

Spear and javelin he would wield
Strengthening his agility,
Let’s not forget the wooden shield
Unfathomable ability!

One morning carving his new spear
He heard the charging of a boar,
The tusks our warden did not fear
But in agony he did roar!

The pig missed his Warden prey
Slipping on the wet morning grass,
Poor Celebrimbus’ delay
Caused a splinter into his ass.

“Oh you vile pig! Away with you!”
He cried, throwing his javelin.
“Leave me be, good riddance! Now shoo!”
And off the boar went travelling.

“Oh what am I to do with this?
A damn splinter in my butt cheek!
I’m in a terrible crisis…
This will hurt my butt for a week!”

And so he wore a thick, grey cloak
With gear to evade a splinter,
But still his fear of Elm and Oak
Will haunt him ‘til next winter!

You will now be known as Man-at-Arms Celebrimbus Splinterbottom, Warden of AnnĂºminas to those you meet in your travels.