Harry Brightfoot, the Halfling Poet

[staog]

In Tethyr's green and rolling land,
A halfling dwells with pen in hand,
Harry Brightfoot, poet and sage,
Spins words into an artful page.

With eyes as keen as his wit,
And a heart that's always lit,
He walks the land with a merry pace,
Each step a journey of poetic grace.

In meadows lush and forests dense,
He finds his muse, his inspiration immense,
And from his heart, the words do flow,
In a rhythmic dance, a lyrical show.

His poetry sings of love and lore,
Of adventure, mystery, and more,
And every word is a precious gem,
A masterpiece crafted by his pen.

From town to town, he wanders on,
Sharing his gift with everyone,
And in each heart, his words do stir,
A spark of wonder, a dreamy purr.

For Harry Brightfoot, the halfling poet,
His words are more than just a show-it,
They're a reflection of his soul's light,
A gift that he shares with delight.

And as he walks Tethyr's green hills,
His poetry echoes, his spirit thrills,
For his journey's end is a journey anew,
And his words will always ring true.

[staog]

Harry, the pacifist bard,
Strummed his lute and sang his songs,
Of peace and love, he was the guard,
Defying violence all day long.

His melodies were sweet and kind,
Harmonious notes filled the air,
With every chord, he soothed the mind,
Dispelling hatred everywhere.

No battle cry, no sword to wield,
Just a gentle heart and voice,
Through every town and every field,
Harry made the people rejoice.

He preached of love and brotherhood,
Of kindness, empathy, and grace,
With every verse, he understood,
The power of words to embrace.

And so, he traveled far and wide,
From coast to coast, from sea to sea,
His message spread both far and high,
That peace and love could set us free.