Poem for Friday and Fremont Troll

Troll Sat Alone On His Seat Of Stone 

By J.R.R. Tolkien 

Troll sat alone on his seat of stone,

And munched and mumbled a bare old bone;

For many a year he had gnawed it near,

For meat was hard to come by.

Done by! Gum by!

In a cave in the hills he dwelt alone,

And meat was hard to come by.

Up came Tom with his big boots on.

Said he to Troll: ‘Pray, what is yon?

For it looks like the shin o’ my nuncle Tim.

As should be a-lyin’ in the graveyard.

Caveyard! Paveyard!

This many a year has Tim been gone,

And I thought he were lyin’ in the graveyard.’

‘My lad,’ said Troll, ‘this bone I stole.

But what be bones that lie in a hole?

Thy nuncle was dead as a lump o’ lead,

Afore I found his shinbone.

Tinbone! Skinbone!

He can spare a share for a poor old troll,

For he don’t need his shinbone.’

Said Tom: ‘I don’t see why the likes o’ thee

Without axin’ leave should go makin’ free

With the shank or the shin o’ my father’s kin;

So hand the old bone over!

Rover! Trover!

Though dead he be, it belongs to he;

So hand the old bone over!’

‘For a couple o’ pins,’ says Troll, and grins,

‘I’ll eat thee too, and gnaw thy shins.

A bit o’ fresh meat will go down sweet!

I’ll try my teeth on thee now.

Hee now! See now!

I’m tired o’ gnawing old bones and skins;

I’ve a mind to dine on thee now.’

But just as he thought his dinner was caught,

He found his hands had hold of naught.

Before he could mind, Tom slipped behind

And gave him the boot to larn him.

Warn him! Darn him!

A bump o’ the boot on the seat, Tom thought,

Would be the way to larn him.

But harder than stone is the flesh and bone

Of a troll that sits in the hills alone.

As well set your boot to the mountain’s root,

For the seat of a troll don’t feel it.

Peel it! Heal it!

Old Troll laughed, when he heard Tom groan,

And he knew his toes could feel it.

Tom’s leg is game, since home he came,

And his bootless foot is lasting lame;

But Troll don’t care, and he’s still there

With the bone he boned from its owner.

Doner! Boner!

Troll’s old seat is still the same,

And the bone he boned from its owner!

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Friday was pretty quiet around here, though lovely -- we had perfect, cloudless weather, the dock fully emerged from the flood waters, the parking lot reconstruction nearly finished, and I got a couple of belated birthday presents delivered correctly after the past few either disappeared or got delivered to neighbors and I only found out from Amazon photos where they had been left. Since it was gorgeous, we walked to the beach, where there were a pair of eagles, dozens of ducks, and a large flock of coots, plus many people walking their dogs and enjoying the beautiful weather. We saw this week's For All Mankind -- please don't end this season with a Deep Impact scenario. 

We also finished watching the final episodes of The Crown, which has mostly been excruciating this last half-season -- I have no particular reason to like Carole Middleton, but everything about her portrayal seems ridiculously mean considering everyone from Camilla to Philip gets a redemption arc, and everything enjoyable in the "Ritz" episode feels like it was swiped not from history but from A Royal Night Out, The Queen's Sister, even The King's Speech. I did like seeing the cameos in the last episode but I found it out of character for Elizabeth even as they've written her. Here are some views of the troll and the troll garden in Fremont when we visited Adam last weekend: