Authors Note: This is the last poem in my trilogy. Thanks to my reviewers, (remember more are always welcome!)

*
Being Short
*

When I'm in my hobbit home,
I feel quite tall when I'm alone.
But then Gandalf comes along,
And he's standing in the throng,
And he's towering above me,
And I'm short.

When we are at the Inn in Bree,
And a man stands right near me,
It strikes me that he's very tall,
They all are really, I recall.
I can only see his kneecaps,
And I'm short.

When you're standing with an elf,
It makes you shrink within yourself.
And it sucks, I can tell,
When we go to Rivendell,
And all the elves are there
And we're short.

When you're in an open moor
And your heads close to the floor
Then it starts to rain and snow
But you are the last to know!
So perhaps it's not so bad,
Being short.