The Fool of Frost and Moss

Oh Ormon the Goblin, a gnomish soul drawn north,

With maps in his satchel and compass leading forth.

He marched on with gnomish delight,

But snow came to greet him the very first night.

His men froze and his hands turned to frost,

Leaving Ormon with no food and hopelessly lost.

Being the last of his party, he wandered alone,

Stumbling upon the goblin king’s throne.

He painted his skin with a mossy green hue,

Dancing with goblins and learning their cue.

They loved his rhythm, and hailed him as kin,

While Ormon just smiled and ate before getting too thin.

He lived in their city, and learned all of their songs,

He juggled dead rats and ran with the rest of their wrongs.

He found some prisoners and made his escape,

He claimed it was cunning, no cowardly scape.

Now bards sing his tale with a wink and grin,

A gnome in green paint, there’s no greater fool any other has been.