Would stay beaten year on year.
An eternal cycle of permanence,
As sure as the orange blossom
Would diffuse through the groves in spring
And the lightning would accompany
The rain as the year fell away.
But Bilbo chasing lizards,
His nose to the ground shovelling dust,
His muscles flickering and powerful
As he darts after a wolf-grey tail,
That would be lost,
And it breaks my heart to know
That his youth would be left behind.