The Morni of Grey Fogg

"The Morni of Grey Fogg"


The snow falls down upon barren earth;                              
Where life is measured in winters endured.                              
Newborn naked babes born sturdy men,                              
Swathed in coarse leather, warmed by dirt hearth.                    

Steel... glinting, gleaming, flaring a wicked glare                    
In harsh orange forge fire. A misbegotten gift.                    
Divine knowledge forbidden to the race of men.                    
Great Riddle unchained by The People of the Bear.                    

Toil to exist; no yolk can bind such a savage soul.                    
Folk who live by superstition and razor edged sword.          
To perish on embattled field; the legacy of men:                    
A barbaric task, burning passion, the noblest goal.                    

The primal mists of a former era quickly burn away;          
Dawning disk of civilization rises. With sound aim,                    
Harsh rays of progress pierce the sides of lesser men.          
The last free tribe, the people from the fog of grey.                    

J. G. Green, '08