His eye stares through the trees;
His claws catch berry-leaves.
His tail snakes its way up
Coiled over rustling rocks.
As big as a homestead,
And as strong as the hills,
And with scales that glitter,
And a narrow stomach.
He eats organ-doners,
And sleeps under the sun.
He has been getting restless,
Down in the gully with
Appetites and loneliness:
Soon he ventured forth,
With battle-lust he crawled,
To the woods’ crossroad.
For a comely knight came,
Riding by, a red horse
Under him, the banner
Of Count Wilhelm above.
The horse startled at twigs,
That crunched under claw.
And every eye in that dark,
Was fearful, or fearsome.
The battle-cry of the Counts
Captains was suddenly
Cut-off, and his sword-arm,
Took the full brunt of Worms’
Long, curved claws, his horse
Leaped too late, his sword,
Dangled from his hand as
Lifted into the air,
The old warrior was
Clasped in clenched teeth.
The red horse grew redder,
Before it could race off.
And the Worm stood still,
Admired his bloody claw,
And wondered idly
At the depth of shadows.
__________
Copyright 2023 Jeffrey Merk
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