Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Phlegmatic Fly

A very good day to all you bloggers.
It's amazing to witness such enthusiasm within the first week of this endeavor that it swells up my eyes...( Umm ok, not that much) ... Now as for the change of topic, well I was supposed to bring out a new one today but I think it still isnt the time to do so. The rain surely hasn't faded anywhere, there are just more grasshoppers, worms, floods, frogs and not to forget, RAIN there could ever be ! Furthermore, I want more people to join in and contribute to this blog as soon as possible. That includes me as well :P ... My story is under construction but a slight cold has rusted up my joints. And even if your story is not Rain related, you can put it up anyway. For now, I leave you with something that's got a little rain but more of rhyme in it :)
Blog On !

Far away in the realms of Middle Earth.
Rested a small region called Hobbiton.
And in a small corner lay a little town.
Known as the Shire, by all and one.

Where chimney smokes rose, white as snow
And trees danced in the music of the winds.
Here lived in a shack young Bilbo Baggins.
With tales up his sleeve that none would know.

One midsummer’s night as he sat in the fire,
Smoking his pipe and making round rings.
Staring with intent at his lone window pane
As he watched them trickling, the drops of rain.

As the fire crackled on through that hour.
The clouds thundered on as though turned sour.
The clock at his bedside ticked with each second.
But then from nowhere came a sound unheard.

It was a croak or a crack, he knew not which.
There was one and another and one more !
Whether it was a beast or just a little insect.
He had to find out, for it was now his itch.

The clouds had ended their tumultuous spell
But the mysterious noises refused to cease.
As the door opened, out came a figure all in black
It was young Bilbo Baggins, exiting his shack.

A lantern in his hand, he traversed through the mud.
In search for his beast that he sought to slay.
In the light of the moon, shadows danced on his face.
As the moths wavered about in their time of play.

His ears at his legs, he wandered on ahead.
The noise grew louder and more in number !
Was he alive and awake or deep in slumber ?
Nevertheless, he proceeded to meet his fate.

Soon he found himself reaching a small bog.
Enveloped in the sounds of different sorts.
There were chirps and croaks and hoots too.
He knew not where to look and what to do.

So he closed his eyes and raised his arms up high.
And in a heartbeat, the cacophony came to a halt.
Struck with the silence, he couldn’t believe his ears
With his head tilted to the stars, he opened his eyes.

And then he slowly looked down at the bog as it was.
But now he felt alone and afraid in the dark night.
Had he been abandoned due to fear or due to anger ?
Maybe his presence was an unwanted sight.

He lowered his arm to take leave when came a sound.
A chirp could be heard and then came two, no three!
Witnessing this ensemble, he smiled and waved his arm
The chirps waved too, rising and falling and moving around.

Then he waved his other arm and followed suit the croaks.
Waving his arms about along with the sounds of the night
He loved each moment of this strange and lovely escapade.
He was now a conductor and this was the choir he had made.

Climbing atop a rock, he looked down and heard them sing.
Which was once a racket had now turned into music!
As he stood there waving his arms in the moonlight.
The moths joined too, hovering above his head in a ring

Young Bilbo was there all night with his new found friends.
He even chose to sing a lore or two that he found to love.
And then danced a little too among the croaks and chirps.
Under the stars of the night he wished would never end.