"Give us a song, Hookbill!" Formendacil called out, wanting to stir things up.
"A song?" said Hookbill, slightly recovered from the blow to the stomach, "I'm not much of a singer, but I'll present some poetry!" There were groans, but nothing was thrown yet.
Hookbill cleared his throat.
Once there was a mighty fog was on the Barrow hills
It was also by Brandy-Wine River and all of the mills
After all, our very own Lord Wight was sat upon gold
Despite his friends who told him he would grow mould
No Hobbit, Elf, man or Dwarf would move the Wight
With a sword in hand, he'd take anyone in a Fight
But our own Lords was taken back, by the sheer size
Of an elephant named Simon who was always telling lies
He swears and curses, but Simon will not leave this place
Without his fear share in gold and, of course, a happy face
But Mr Wight refuses to give up his gold to anyone!
No matter where on Middle Earth they came from!
It was a strange Poem, with crazy lyrics, but Hookbill enjoyed it. Some clapped, but others grumbled and told him to find other poetry that all would enjoy.