We were ten pygmies strong,
not including me, the Snow White
in this story of nine dwarves,
plus one who went through puberty.
We went to the woods for a history lesson,
to live like they did in the 19th century,
in a phone reception-less laboratory where
our poor leprechauns turned to bribery,
promising wishes for a little phone service.
Besides a bit of time traveling wifisickness
they were the best short adventurers
that anyone could ask for.
The diminutive students trekked
through weather from Mordor
to the crest of Mt. Doom;
to them it was named Rattlesnake Mountain
but they were hobbits all the same.
One eighth grader even lost a ring to the
hungry mouth of fog that
swallowed the rocky peak.
A offering to the gods
made it easier to leave behind.