A little nonsense created in childhood
To moniker a character in my brain
Who was everything I saw as cool
A name with no meaning at all
Except to capture her beauty
I thought the letters perfect
Their arrangement pretty
And I kept her around
And for years since
I used her name
Or is it mine
I guess it
Belongs
To just
MeIn the past, beyond the pale
A forgotten story, a foreign tale
Traversing through a mountainous wood
A lone figure, wearing a hood
The forest was dire, but he walked with ease
Because he alone was the master of trees
Branches sway to clear a street
For any other, they would surely beat
What was the name of that man on the hill?
Why, none other than Tom Bombadil!
I had to do two,
Because the first wasn’t true.
I was a child of a young sort
When I looked upon my porch.
In order to cut our trees faster,
My dad bought The Tree Master.
It was a wood chipper with buttons and levers.
I borrowed it’s name and thought myself clever.
That was well over 10 years ago.
I never came up with a new name, though.