Oh Well

But with a shiver of his spine,

And a glint of fresh steel,

The Knight reared up high.

Death was his to deal.

So he struck out a blow,

Hoping to drive the brute back,

But even though his sword was sharp,

the Wyrm brushed off the attack.

And so it reared up even higher,

With a neck that reached the sky.

And with a rumble in his gullet,

Roasted the poor guy.

The End

1 comment about this poem Feed