when it’s springtime and the hobbit hole is so perfectly comfy,
but its super bright outside –
it might not be the time to write a poem, or gaze slowly and languishingly into your glowing glass of tea.
to celebrate your everything comfy,
or recollect whether not you are hitting your mark, and being in your daily diligent meditations,
being a good hobbit,
so you get out your broom and brush,
and put on some of that music that’s already playing in your head,
and you get to whistling,
and each step brings you closer to thick forest, as you sweep.
and maybe the critters are stirring more underneath your feet,
and maybe the clouds are articulating
can not be