The Dark Hobbit Poem by John Ackerman

on the cascading slope leading to the Never Land
let the reader understand a whole host of saying yes we can
there are limits to the sequence leading to the dark hobbit
a face of magic from its flame a given chance at which to entertain

he wore his boots through tight of gait
swallowed the moisture of fallen dew
nothing brightened behold nothing brought new
there are pages leading to what we say or do

the soup was on of certain Elf Drop cubed
perscribed from advance a letter torn advance
the kingdom was vast and dear to my heart
there was a dungeon in the middle of the spot

strange music from the outer banks
a smile appeared from the dark hobbit
little is known about his viscous fangs that bite dripping blood of side
through vacant trees the lumination from its leaves

watching and waiting
make no mistaken in hiding behind the dross
trying to stir the pot