The Dance upon the Hill

Who am I now, dear Tom Bombadil?

In golden woods where time stands still.

Am I the echo of the thrush's call,

Or the silent watcher of leaves that fall?

 

Do I charm the fish in the babbling brook,

Or inspire the tales in the poet's book?

 

Do I guide the arc of the falcon's flight,

Or shroud the hills in the veil of night?

 

Do I whisper secrets to the moon's soft glow,

Or plant the seeds where wildflowers grow?

 

In stories woven, in dreams fulfilled,

Who am I now, dear Tom Bombadil?

 

Ah, merry one, in heart and soul, 

In every role you play the whole. 

As thrush's call, as leaves that fall, 

In golden woods, you are it all.

 

You charm the fish, inspire the verse, 

In nature's chorus, you rehearse. 

As falcon's flight, as hills at night, 

In every sight, you are the light.

 

You whisper secrets to the moon,

Your spirit’s song, a timeless tune.

In seed and bloom, in light and shadow’s play,

You are the dawn, the dusk, the sun’s last ray.

 

In woven tales, in silence still,

You’re the dance, my dear, upon the hill.