The howling winds appeared to mock
the maiden tied up to a rock.
Brought by a silent, horse drawn wagon
to serve as supper for a dragon,
and from her cruel and stony bed
these are the plaintive words she said
“Will no one save me from this fate
too dreadful far to contemplate.
My Hero! Please don’t hesitate
or else, I fear, you’ll be too late.”


Thence came a pure and gentle knight;
He rode up from the Isle of Wight.
A handsome and upstanding fellow
with posture bold and manner mellow.
He’d brought his lance and sharpened blade
to try to save the hapless maid.
He said in tones so loud and clear,
“My Lady, you need have no fear,
so shed not one more single tear.
Have courage damsel, Henry’s here.”


The dragon, hearing from his cave
those ringing words, so fierce and brave;
Flew very quickly to the spot
with flaming coat and breath so hot;
Angry to hear this idle boast,
ready to turn the knight to toast.
The damsel screamed in mortal fright
“Will no one save me from this plight?
Where is my parfait, gentle knight
to neutralise this dragon’s bite?


Then Henry drew his shining sword,
with which he’d faced the Golden Horde.
He’d slain a troll, and killed a wizard;
he wasn’t frightened by a lizard.
He stood before the frightened girl
and gave his sword a skilful twirl.
He cried, “Come dragon, do your best!
Prepare to face your final test;
This sword will sleep within your breast,
before the sun sinks in the west.“


The dragon glared a baleful glare,
then rose to hover in the air;
The breath he breathed was fiery hot,
and suddenly, the Knight was not.
Where he had stood, so bold, so brash,
there rose a pile of smouldering ash.
The dragon spread his wings, and then
he took the maiden to his den.
She vanished from the sight of men,
and nevermore was seen again.


The moral of this story’s clear;
The thing that hurts us most is FEAR!
For though it may seem quite absurd
If she had never said a word,
she might have stayed there through the night;
Unheard, unnoticed, out of sight,
Then with the coming of the day
she might have found a cunning way
the rope to cut or knots to fray.
She might have even got away.


 

 

© By Thomas Vaughan Jones (TVaughanJones@aol.com)


 






Watch these pages for more from Tom.
In the meantime, click the links below for
poems and stories by our other authors.


My Legacy

DawnChorus

Snap Dragons

Desert City

Aerial Dream

The Rear View Mirror

Mary Fry


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