Amidst a sylvan glade stood a cottage, comely and warm
Where asters and bluebells smiled, where flocks of starlings did swarm,
Home to Mabel, a village lass, with soft curls and blue eyes
A blissful life she lived, tending sheep and baking cream pies,
Till she met Gandalf, the outlawed knight with a heart of gold!
Eyes met…hearts raced…they mouthed promises and pledges galore
Their love, their mirth rang through the vale, and filled the skirting moor.
News reached the tyrant king, his heart seethed with a hate so dark,
Out rode his marksmen…on a killing spree they did embark,
The young lovebirds fled the glen, their bucolic dreams slivered!
Souls scarred, feet bruised, they bounded to escape the wrathful flood,
And clanging swords and murderous men, baying for their blood!
Crossing hills and bogs, they reached a land of zen, love and grace,
A herding tribe helped them settle in a quaint cropping base,
O hark! The hills still sing paeans for Gandalf and Mabel!
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