“She smiled at me beneath the stars of ligh-, no. No that’s not right”.
Davus sighed, picking up his tin whistle again and resumed to work on the melody. It had been an idea that sifted through his mind for some time, but he couldn’t quite put it into words. Perhaps he wasn’t ready for it yet. Sighing, he turned his head to the sky and enjoyed the gentle breeze drifting over.
He always enjoyed travelling west, but he rarely ventured as far as the Blue Mountains. He enjoyed the woodlands of the Shire and north of its borders, which had been hotly contested by the hobbits in recent times, or so he had heard. He had enjoyed the splendour of Ered Luin for a time, but now he was due to head home again to Bree-Land, before the time came for his feet to become restless once more.
His horse trundled along, and he lost himself for a moment as he played the notes and strung them together. He wasn’t adept at the instrument, and some echoed shrill and piercing, but he was improving with practice, and he did love the sound so. At that moment, he thought of the road he was travelling , and once more, he pulled out his pencil and notebook.
Oh, wonder where the grass is green,
Sweetest meadows you’ve ever seen,
Even down where the rivers gleam,
They argue over the borders.
Come where they brew the finest beer,
In the pubs there is good cheer,
Yet still over Yonder here,
They argue over the borders.
Even though no Big Man dwells,
No stories from outside they tell,
But when it comes to crook and dell,
They argue over the borders.
They do not swing a sword or shield,
Bountiful crops they have to yield,
Yet when it comes to lands and fields,
They argue over the borders.
I thought there’d be no politics,
No fighting with stones or sticks,
Yet even here they have their tricks,
To fight over their borders.
They sat at night beside warm fire,
Or mirth and merriment they do not tire,
Yet it still even in the Yondershire,
They argue over the borders.
His horse approached Tighfield after much of the day in the wilderness. He arched his back, stretching, and slipped from his saddle, tucking his notebook into his pocket. “Well”, he muttered to himself. “I guess even the calmest lands are never truly at peace”.
