Mawallace

 Mawallace slew dragons.

 He scaled the Cliffs of Avarice,
 Where stones slice flesh and bone
 And streams of blood from warriors lost
 Make seas of every crevice,
 To dismember the beast.

 He flew into the Heav'n of Lust,
 Scorned soft and full and blue
 To bare the Poxed Whore on her bed
 Of pus slick silk.
 And cauterized the beast.

 He dove into the Sea of Spite,
 Braved tidal rage and wrathful night;
 Behemoth sought in its black lair
 Thrust deep his sword
 And disembowelled the beast.

 And when frost etched his noble head
 With fine white lines,
 When time had heaped its burden
 On bowed shoulders,
 He stored his armour in a chest,
 Hung sword above the blazing hearth,
 Then warmed his aches before the fire
 And sighed . . .

 But just before he closed his eyes,
 An Evil, crawling, slithering,
 Squirmed inside
 To feast.
 Ravenous, gluttonous, vengeful beast
 That from a hero brave creates
 A gaunt, grey corpse

 And Mawallace shall no more dragons slay.

the end