Hi, panda. You left a wonderfully detailed review on my other poem, and I was hoping that you could give this poem a review, seeing as it hasn't got many.
In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of
worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to
eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort. — JRR Tolkien
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