Treasure Island

Jonathan ROBIN

(22 September / London)

Frodo's Mystère Ring after T.S. Eliot Macavity the Mystery Cat


Frodo Baggins' mystery is called the hidden ring
For he's a master magician of whom all hobbits sing
He's the bafflement of Saruman, of Sauron dark despair,
For when nine riders reach the scene our Frodo hid from stare.

Frodo, Bilbo's nephew now, none show our Frodo's suavity,
He's broken every Dimwood caw, confounds the laws of gravity
His powers of concentration would make a fakir stare
And when you reach the scene of crime our Frodo's rarely there!
You may seek him in Mount Doom's dark depths, you may look up in the air
But I tell you once and once again our Frodo's hid from stare!

Oh! Frodo is a hobbit wise, he's very short, blue eyes
You would know him if you saw him for they mirror cloudless skies,
His brow is deeply lined in thought, he wears brown curly hair,
His coat is dusty from neglect - uncombed may still seem fair.
He sways his head from side to side as elves and dwarves dispute
but though appearing half asleep, he's always quite acute.

Oh Frodo B, Oh Frodo B, there's no one like our Frodo B
Defeating fiends of orcish shape, dark monsters of depravity
They may follow him through marshes, send spies Rohan square
But no ring is discovered for our Frodo's not seen there!

He's outwardly respectable, no hobbitcheats at cards
And his footprints are not found in any files of Scotland Yard's
And when the larder's looted or the jewel case is rifled
Or when the milk is missing or another peke's been stifled
Or the greenhouse glass is broken and the trellis past repair
There's the wonder of the thing Macavity's not there!

Oh Frodo B, Oh Frodo B, there's no one like our Frodo B
None know of other hobbits in their comfort holes or cavity
who always holds to aims in sight, for right will fight hors pair,
What ever time the deed took place our Frodo's well aware.

Many speak of mortal failings, of Dwarf wailings since Moria,
I might mention Gimli's cousin Balin's end in Balrog fryer,
Elves, dwarves are only bit-part hacks, 'tis Frodo takes the candle
Sam Gamgee says there's nothing he with brilliance cannot handle.

Oh Frodo B, Oh Frodo B, there's no one like our Frodo B
Defeating fiends of orcish shape, dark monsters of depravity
They may follow him through marshes, send spies Rohan square
But no ring is discovered for our Frodo's not seen there!

Submitted: Saturday, August 17, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, August 21, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

(18 August 2013)

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