Green grow the grasses over rolling hills,
The blue skys in summer give me such thrills.
My heart is beating faster than wings of a bee
as I run across these fields and fill myself with glee.
But I must hurry home for tis time for a snack,
but don't worry outdoors for I'll soon be back.
For I'm no typical hobbit, no, deffinitly not.
I prefer the stars to eating stew from my pot.
Yes for mushrooms I have a weakness, I must admit,
but with a craving for beauty, food just dosn't fit.
Yes here by the brandywhine in happiness I dwell,
with my mother and father, who I dearly love so well.
I am Frodo son of Drogo and in Buckland I fair,
and now I'm brimming with joy to the tips of my toes hair.