Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow;
Bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow.
None has yet defined him, for Tom is an enigma
All those who try to do it fail and soon they feel the stigma.

By water, wood and hill, by the reed and willow
He seems to be the countryside, does old Tom Bombadillo
Is he a Nature Spirit, dancing through the seasons?
Tolkien seemed to say so, though he did not give his reasons.

He cannot be a Hobbit though for sure he is so jolly.
No kind of Elf is Tom, you will not hear him sing fa-lally!
Nor mortal Man of Middle-earth, by Ring-lust made the bolder,
Nor Ent of ancient forest realms, for Tom is even older.

Of the dwarvish folk the father was the Vala known as Aulë
And some propose that Tom is he, a guess of utter faulë.
Like any of the Valar, he would fear no wraiths of Sauron!
To use my favorite rhyme, that is the theory of a mauron.

And do not even mention the All-father, Ilúvatar
Though Goldberry declares “He Is”, the phrase holds little water.
Tolkien said that merely is a comment about naming,
For Eru will not walk the Earth until the End a-flaming.

Who’s left? the evil Witch-King, of Angmar lord of old,
Has been slyly suggested but the humor soon grows cold.
For many the all-purpose term of Maia fits the bill
But such a being would surely rate a mention in the Sil.

By fire, sun and moon, harken now and hear us!
Come, Tom Bombadil, our need to know is near us!
Who are you Master? “Don’t you know my name yet?
Tell me, who are you, alone, yourself and nameless?”

Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow;
Bright blue his jacket is, and his boots are yellow.
None has yet defined him, for Tom is an enigma
All those who try to do it fail and soon they feel the stigma.