Somewhere within a hostile land, and within a cave, hides a lair,
Far from the eyes of those that see.
And therein hides a freakish ogre,
Hiding in the darkness, longing only to be free.
The ogre was never always such,
For once he was as plain as the rest.
But over time his fortunes have plundered,
Such that now, for him, to hide is best.
For many years he walked among us,
Ever ashamed of what his form brought forth.
And he had many a reason to be ashamed,
Since others could never tolerate his worth.
To the ogre, being seen caused much despair,
But a way out, he could never find.
The pain of being a freakish creature,
Among men, destroyed his mind.
Though years have passed, no change to him can be found,
And all he longs for is to walk among the free.
But since there is no cure to being what he is,
The unfortunate ogre knows only himself, and the poet, that is-me.