A Visit from Tom Bombadil by Lbilover

Originally written for Christmas 2009.


'Twas the night before Yule and all through the smial,
Nothing was stirring - but just give it a while.
Frodo in his silk nightshirt and Samwise in bare skin
Were nestled in bed, Yule celebrations to begin.

‘Oh Sam,’ Frodo sighed, and ‘Oh Frodo,’ Samwise moaned,
And they kissed and caressed with skills very well-honed.
Things moved along fast as a four-minute mile,
Until Frodo reached out for the lavender vial.

‘It’s empty!’ he cried. ‘Oh Sam, what will we do?
Why, Yule isn’t Yule without a hobbit shag or two.’
‘I’ll fetch more, Frodo-love!’ And Sam sprang from the bed.
Then he stopped and he clutched at his curly brown head.

‘Ninnyhammer! Noodles! I forgot we’re plumb out.’
Frodo sank back in shock (with a definite pout).
‘Never fear, Frodo dear, I’ll find some, you’ll see,
If it means running naked all the way to Bree.’

But before Sam could point a hairy toe toward the door,
A commotion arose that shook the whole floor!
Samwise dashed to the window and flung the sash wide.
Frodo quickly joined him (snuggling close to his side).

The Moon shed a glow o’er the snow-covered yard,
The hobbits stared dumbfounded, and both squinted hard.
For what to their wondering eyes had appeared
But a sight most fantastical (and, well, frankly plain weird):

A sleigh made of willow-wood circled over the snow,
It was pulled by six hobbit-ponies, their noses aglow.
Holding onto their reins was a form they knew well,
They could tell in a trice it was Tom Bombadil.

More rapid than Gwaihir the hobbit-ponies sped,
While Tom capered and sang, even stood on his head.
‘Now, Sharp-ears, now, Wise-nose, now, Swish-tail and Bumpkin!
On White-socks my little lad, and old Fatty Lumpkin!

Across the Water! and over the Row!
Up to the smial-top! Now go, go, go, GO!’
As Frodo’s dark curls lightly dance on a breeze,
So the ponies flew higher with breathtaking ease.

Taking Tom and the sleigh spilling over with bags,
They soared to the smial-top (these were no common nags).
The hobbits soon heard through the thick earthen roof,
Pawing and stomping from each sturdy pony hoof.

As they turned from the window, Frodo cried with a frown,
‘Sam, you’re still naked, and Tom’s coming down!’
Sam pulled on his robe just as old Tom appeared;
He was covered in soot, there were sparks in his beard.

His great boots were charred and his feather was bent,
Broken, it seemed, in his hasty descent.
But his blue eyes were twinkling as he stepped from the fire.
'Hey dol, merry dol! Happy Yule to the Shire!’

Tom set down a large bag that bulged at each seam;
Sam and Frodo were bemused; it seemed just like a dream.
‘Gather round, my hearties,’ Tom bade with a smile.
‘Old Tom’s busy this night; his work’s not done by a mile.’

And opening the sack, with a clink and a ting,
Tom took out a bottle that made their hearts sing.
It was lavender oil, and he’d brought them not one,
But they counted twelve dozen before he was done.

‘How can we ever thank you?’ Frodo said with emotion.
‘Thank me?’ cried Tom. ‘What a peculiar notion!
Why, Yule isn’t Yule without a hobbit shag or two,
Or possibly more before this Yule is through.’

Then with a ‘Hey dol, merry dol’, and no further ado,
Tom waved a good-bye and disappeared up the flue.
‘That old Tom, he’s a caution, and there’s no mistake.’
‘Oh Sam, not right now, I’ve a terrible ache!’

Forgetting their visitor, Sam lunged for a vial,
And dove onto Frodo in a sweet hobbit-pile.
The sighing and moaning picked up where it stopped,
‘Til the first shag was done (are you surprised Samwise topped?)

Tom on the smial roof listened with glee;
He’d done his work well here, it was now time to flee!
He sprang in the sleigh and let out a shrill whistle,
Away the ponies flew like the down of a thistle.

Neither hobbit heard him cry, ere he drove out of sight,
‘Happy Yuletide to all, and to all a good-night!’