Mists of Morning

We small hobbits of the Shire ride
across narrow roads and valleys of wide
drifting far from the burdensome tide
night and day rest close at our side.

The lonesome caves atop the mount
carry more power than one can count
frosted fog whispers a great amount
desiccating clear blue river's fount.

Smoke to the east meets our eye
as his inner black core emits a sigh
observant bald eagles above stand-by
warning us that mystic danger is nigh.

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I just had to base this off "The Lord of the Rings" since I am in the middle of reading it and am greatly inspired.