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Ready, now he was,
his fate was at hand.
Out from the city he rode,
as his name the people rang.
The mountains he sought,
the keep, the lair, the beast.
Tormentor of their city,
he sought to slay.
A trophy, its head,
to the king he would present.
His sword, he drew,
as nearer he rode,
to the lair ahead,
the dragons home.
Beneath him,
the earth shook, and
dismount his horse he did.
Brightly, his sword gleamed,
as beating wings
through the mountain rumbled.
The sky he searched,
the dragon he sought.
Full circle he turned,
but no beast did he see.
Louder, the beating came,
that flapping of mighty wings,
when covered him a shadow,
the beast attacked.
The ground he embraced,
as those wings swept by,
and those teeth he did avoid,
as his sword defeated the beastly blow.
Facing the beast, he rose.
"Come," he said the challenge,
and rose his sword.
Converged they did,
with gnashing of teeth.
Salty blood flowed,
as those teeth met flesh.
Wounded, our hero fell,
but defeated, he was not.
He rose again,
and with a vengeance he struck.
His sword found an entrance,
through the beastly armor,
and into the heart it did pierce.
Our hero bellows his triumphant cry,
as over his prey he stands,
his trophy he will claim.
To the city he returned,
through the crowds and cheers,
and to his king he presents,
the trophy of their tormentor,
and lays before his feet,
the head of the dragon.
