The Last of the Giants

This is a tale of ages past
Of evils long ago.
Of the giants, I am last
My name is Delfello.

I remember well the age of men
The age of raging hate
Dark times they were for giants then
And a pain to enumerate

Once we were a noble race
High standing in the hills
Then men had a change of face
And boons now were ills

My father fought to save my kin
A power to behold
But die he did to hunting men
And all was dark and cold

Lost we went without a guide
Hunted without pause
Grieving then my mother died
Hunted without cause

Followed by the fiendish hunt
Running witless, scared
Shelter’s comfort we did want
But stopping no one dared

The chase lasted for many a day
Then in a fury fell
I crushed the men as pots of clay
For a moment all was well

But more they sent to hunt my kind
My sister they did kill
Their bones, to dust, I did slowly grind
Of hate I had no fill

I found the last of my race
In a valley wide
Soon a battle we would face
Avenging those that died

I found them all standing round
A fire blazing tall
Downcast faces to the ground
Their names I now recall:

Felgrir, terror of the distant east
Kelt, the tallest of my race
Wergen, known only as the savage beast
And Nos, weilder of the mace

All of them of heartache drank
Drowning in the swoon
All of them of malice stank
Waning as the moon

Then angered, roused, we stormed out
To crush and kill the men
Curses, battle cries, we’d shout
And kill and kill again

Sadly all those there but I
Died that fateful day
And now I remember with a sigh
All that now is grey.

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I wrote this senior year of highschool, memorized it, dressed up, and presented it as my Great Books project.