Gollum's Hobbit Problem
Sniff, sniff
Does you smell it, preciouss?
I wonders if it's a tasty morsel.
Look!
In its handses!
What iss it, presiouss?
Oh, a sword
Ssss.
A riddle, does it like?
Praps it likes riddles
My preciouss
I askes him.
Too easy, precious
We must have competition with it
If precious asks
And the Baggins doesn't answer
We eats it.
If it asks us
And we doesn't answer
We shows it the way out.
I askes it a riddle
It answers in a moment
It challenges with another
I gnash, I hiss
I steam and splutter
But I refuse
To lose.
Now preciouss, iss it juicy?
It can't seem to thinks
But, no, he shouts an answer
And askes just one more.
Ack, itsss pocket!
What iss in his pocketses, preciouss?
I lost, precious
I lost to it
But now is not time
To haves a fit.
We need our
Birthday-present, precious
But…
Where is it, precious?
I knows I left it…
No!
It has it!
Our birthday-present iss in
Baggins' pocketses!
My magic ring,
That hideses you
Like a cat in shadows,
Is gone!
Curse you, Baggins!
There you have it: one of the hardest poems I have ever written.