O, green be the Shire. Golden be the horselords' fields. Brown the barrows be.
Dwarven halls be stone, and elves live in silver trees. Men's houses squat between.
I miss the springtime, the loamy smell, the soft grass, hobbits in their holes.
I miss the gardens, the verdant hillsides. Children laughing. A good pipe.
I'm done with dwarves and elves and the realms of all men. I want home again.
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