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 As master of the lonely beast,

He guides it on to plant the crops,

The power of hooves with four to push,

And loosen up the hungry earth,

For him to fill with dragon's teeth,

Fresh plucked by such a gentle hand,

With such a spite to his new loss,

From cares and loves and worries young,

His princess smiles at this new life,

As does the blacksmith from on high,

To help him conquer all.


Up from the dirt sprouts just a hand,

An arm, a chest, a whole body,

Shaking the ground from its new form,

It stretches, yawns with ancient might,

Drawing an arm for its defence,

And hold it proud for sheer offence,

To let the blade shake with the wind,

And slice straight through the empty air.

Comes horror from the hero young,

As armies flee the darkened land,

And scare the old King too.


His own army join the battle,

With swords as sharp as mortals make,

They cut the sown men, pierce their flesh,

No blood from them should grace the soil,

But back they fought with instinct new,

Too great in strength for simple men,

For salvation was clouded up,

With their own blood blinding the troops,

The King, the answer in his hand,

Too late the gem was thrown among,

For brave heroes to fall.

The End

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