WHEN I THINK ABOUT FRYING

When I think about frying, absolutely nothing comes to mind. I mean, really zero. Eventually, I thought of a poem and found it.

It’s from J.R.R. Tolkien’s “The Hobbit.” It’s got a hefty dose of boiling and roasting, too. If you are sensitive to little birds, this is probably not the poem for you.

Fifteen birds in five fir trees is a poem found within the chapter:

Out of the Frying-Pan into the Fire” from The Hobbit.


Fifteen birds in five fir trees,
their feathers were fanned in a fiery breeze!
what funny little birds, they had no wings!
Oh what shall we do with the funny little things?
Roast ’em alive, or stew them in a pot;
fry them, boil them and eat them hot?
Burn, burn tree and fern!
Shrivel and scorch! A fizzling torch
To light the night for our delight,
Ya hey!
Bake and toast ’em, fry and roast ’em!
till beards blaze, and eyes glaze;
till hair smells and skins crack,
fat melts, and bones black
in cinders lie
beneath the sky!
So dwarves shall die,
and light the night for our delight,
Ya hey!
Ya-harri-hey!
Ya hoy!

THE ROAD GOES EVER ON AND ON

75-AldrichSt-60

“The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say”

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring