Sunday, April 8, 2012


Thulefred, spirit,
borne of the wood,
lives in the trees,
surveys all he sees;
sees not what he would.

So he sets out for the West,
with nought but sword and shield,
seeking to right what is wrong.
Past the White Downs of Song,
he travels fast and far afield.

A Guardian he'll be.
Defending the weak
against growing evil,
a seeping travail.
He fords fen and creek,

into The Shire he roams.
Shoeless feet tired and sore,
he pauses to eat
at a still peaceful store.
Friends there he did meet,
with some informative tomes.

It seems a black rider
had just passed this way.
Had brought early darkness
at the end of the day.
If not drunk with hard cider,
Thulefred would have struck.
Struck for his friends
now down on their luck.

So he sobered up fast
and prepared once again
to put daylight between
him and where he had been.
He chased the rumours
of evil and fright.
Over valley and vale
and all through the night.

And so begins the tale
of Thulefred the Brave.
Guardian of the Far Downs,
he bested many a knave.
Now on a stout pony,
through brigands he'd sail.

Though exhausted and lonely,
his goal remained always
to defend all hobbit towns
from treason and murder,
and to take the good fight
to the orc hosts of Mordor.

Hail Thulefred our guardian!
Hail Thulefred the Brave!
Protect him for us
from a too early grave.

mindbringer, 7 April 2012