A Hobbit's Wobble Poem by Mervyn Graham

In a wobble of wight, by the wiver so blue,
A hobbit did blunder, with nary a clue.
He fuddled and fumbled, with a bittle of brown,
And tripped over roots, in a tumbleweed gown.

His pockets were jangled, with jingles and knots,
As he rambled and gambled, on cobblestone plots.
With a swizzle of wibbles, and a wobble of woe,
He searched for his hobbit-hole, to and fro.

But the threes in the muddle, they whispered and snarled,
As the hobbit did grumble, in a tangle of tarled.
As he wixed up his mords, in a jumble of jest,
And waggled his ears, in a quest for some rest.

Oh, the piddles and puddles, he stumbled upon,
As he riddled and raddled, with a pinch of a yon.
But amidst all the muddle, and the flumble and fuss,
He found his way home, with a hobbitish cuss.

So here's to the hobbit, with his bobbles and squirms,
In a world of mix-ups, where confusion confirms.
For in the tangle of tizzies, and the squiggle of sight,
He found his own path, in the wobble of night.

Mervyn Graham (cc 2024)