In a dense fog, <br />He comes from his bog. <br />His steed of haze, <br />With an endless gaze. <br /> <br />His sickle of dawn, <br />And of daylight gone. <br />Crossbow at his waist, <br />He makes great haste. <br /> <br />A shield of mist, <br />Upon his gloved fist. <br />A spear of twilight, <br />Routs enemies outright. <br /> <br />An aura so odd, <br />No men slow his trod. <br />His mane of gray, <br />Not of night, nor of day. <br /> <br />His path will sway, <br />Day after day. <br />He is the mask, <br />Keeper of the past.<br /><br />Jason Pack<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-gray-rider/
