Bewitched?
High above the Vale,
in castle’s tower, the boy
lies sick: it seems that he will die.
His noble father blames witch
Joan Flower,
for she did threaten,
bluster, curse and lie, and now his child
knocks on death’s gloomy
door.
Joan’s daughters both
admitted guilt,
and hanged, but she claimed
she was merely old
and poor and needing aid from
selling herbs,
and wronged most vilely by
this accusation grave.
She sought to clear her name
of this foul deed,
but choked on the blessèd bread
which should have proved her
innocence.
In the church, take heed:
there rests the lad in tomb
of grand design, yet of the
“witch” herself there is no sign.
Hobbit Questions
Would you have gone with
Bilbo,
into the dragon’s lair?
Would you have travelled
through Mirkwood?
Tell me, would you dare?
Would you do battle with trolls,
with orcs and Gollum, too?
Would you enter Moria?
Really now, would you?
If you could travel with
Frodo,
frightened, weary and cold,
if you could go into Mordor,
would you be so bold?
And
if you met with the Horsemen,
the
Riders on their grim steeds,
would
you give in to their fury,
or
would you perform brave deeds?
And if you met up with the
wizard,
the one they call Gandalf the
Grey,
would you be awkward and
tongue-tied,
or could you have your say?
Would
you like to stride out with Aragorn,
over
the bleak, bare fells?
Or
would you hide in the woodland,
within
the elven dells?
And how would you fare in the
battle,
the siege at Gondor’s gate?
Or perhaps you’d ride with
the Rohirrim:
would that be your fate?
And
if you encountered the Spider,
and
her web in Shelob’s den,
in
the sticky black hole where she waited:
what
would you do then?
And if you stood on the brink
of Doom,
like Frodo, with the Ring in
your hand,
could you throw it away,
destroy it,
would you understand?
And
after it all was over,
all
the wars and trouble and strife,
could
you go back home to your garden
and
lead an ordinary life?
Hobbity Hill
Exploring our new locality
all those years ago,
the bracken-clad hill, its winding paths
and twisting pines, with brambles and bilberry
and rabbity holes,
we said how hobbity it
is!
Many years later we discovered that JRRT
had lived as a child in the ruined cottage
on the eastern slopes, facing the rising sun;
with the liberty of the hill above.
The cottage has now vanished,
Tolkien himself long gone.,
and we are far away,
but the hill is still hobbity.
By Tina Negus
