Shame we have to make it easier than last Sunday ..
The Bluebell Wood.
In the shire, there is a wood,
A leafy dell, where Hobbits shoot,
When all about is wild and wet,
The Buxted wood is better kept,
A magic place, serene, sublime,
The hallowed haunt of fifty-nine,
One by one, step up the best,
Yet none so far, have passed the test,
A spell long cast in days of old,
To thwart the brave, the strong, the bold,
Words abound and deeds are few,
The three score waits, a champion true,
Will it be me?
Perchance 'tis you.
arf!
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