Jogging o’er wood and dale,  o'er corn-field-ed hill,  passing through brush so tall, and trickling rivulets cold. Tripping o’er stumpy roots, and thumping in the road, breathing deeply in and out the springy air so cold. Strolling ‘midst grassy way feeling it by and by, picking dandelions off the stem and dozily letting them fly. Whistling far-off and unheard tunes which soar to branches aloof, singing to absent melody while swaying dreamily. Failing, falls the sun below and shadows deepen ‘round the eaves  pulling out a pipe he blows puffing a misty, thoughtful haze.    

 

Here are a list of tips (instructions) for when you enter, are in, and leaving Mirkwood.

 

Mirkwood…The Crazy

(This is a thing that Stephanie, Elizabeth, and I did)

To far off worlds I go
To Middle Earth I’ve been
Ever since I was young
Daily I travel
I know the way by heart
I will take you there any day
I know this land like the back of my hand
To go is a delight
Though frightening things await

To Narnia I walk
I know Peter, Lucy, and Edmund
I see Reepicheep
As He pokes Eomer’s eye
As I see Caspian say Bergil is crazy

Aragorn came through the trees
Found Boromir in the glade
Pierced with many arrows he was
Against the bark of a great tree.

Many orcs did there lay.
In Boromir hand was his hilt.
There lay the horn, cloven in two.
Aragorn knelt, Boromir spoke,
“I tried to take the ring.”

Twenty orcs were at his feet.
“I have paid, the Halflings they took
Bound they were, but dead not.”
Wearily his eyelids did close:
“Farwell Aragorn,” at last he spoke.
“Go to Minas Tirith, I have failed.”