In the past, beyond the pale

A forgotten story, a foreign tale

Traversing through a mountainous 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 well over 10 years ago.

I never came up with a new name, though.