In the past, beyond the pale A forgotten story, a foreign tale Traversing through a wood A lone figure wearing a hood The forest was dire, but he walked with ease Because he alone was the master of trees Branches sway to clear a street For any other, they would surely beat What was the name of that man on the hill? Why, none other than Tom Bombadil!

I had to do two,

Because the first wasn’t true.

I was a child of a young sort

When I looked upon my porch.

In order to cut our trees faster,

My dad bought The Tree Master.

It was a wood chipper with buttons and levers.

I borrowed it’s name and thought myself clever.

That was over 10 years ago.

I never came up with a new name, though.