A weary pilgrim along the road
Leaning upon a staff
His back is bent under a heavy load;
Yet deep and strong is his laugh.

He wears a long, dirty grey cloak
His eyes are fiery coals
To anger they are easily provoked;
But to embers they swiftly go.

Bushy eyebrows; a long, gray beard
Fire is his friend
All dark foes by which he is feared
Flee swiftly ‘ere their life he end.

Wisdom and knowledge are upon his brow;
A deadly yet healing hand
A gleaming smile, thunderous frown;
To kill or to mend.

Gandalf the Grey; passing into Death
Fought ’till the end of his life
Wizard, warrior; in peace may he rest
In Valimar may he find no strife.