Prologue

In a place not far from the land of Greece

There were four travelers seraching for peace

They all came searching for something they lacked

Seeking the gods who kept the world intact.

They each sought something difference, that in part

Would lessen the grief inside of each heart.

My description

The matron rode astride her ancient horse

And purposefully kept her to her course

The jangle-bells upon the bridle rang

A back-drop to her unceasing harangue

Her tongue stood wagging in her wrinkled maw

Her bones were showing through her wasted jaw

Her eyes were rheumy with a milk-white glaze

And none of what transpired escaped her gaze

Pale she was, and brittle to the touch

Before her on the saddle hung a crutch

For the leg that withered, twisted, frail,

Consumed by her illness’ lethal trail

That now was reaching up into her heart

And threatening to force her to depart

From this earth; for her body’s sake

Did she, the dying matron, seek to take

This pilgrimage unto the holy Mount

To bathe her poisoned body in the fount

And pray Asclepius, Apollo’s peer,

To heal his servant, faithful all these years.

My tale

There once was a king in a distant land

With a daughter who was in high demand.

But he would not let her be wed to one who

Had not a heart that was just, kind, and true.

The prince-to-be had also be brave,

Not some lowlife or a common old knave.

So he sent forth a decree to all men

Challenging them to go into deep fen

And slay a monster, a terror of night

So he could show the king of his might.

Men from all places did answer his call

But none could defeat it, they all did fall.

Then along came a lad, as proud as could be

H

25

e said, “I will slay it, soon you will see,

Although I’m not noble in blood, in heart

I am true and soon I’ll be part

Of this great fam’ly, your dear son-in-law.”

The young man smirked, but nobody saw.

The king told the lad, “Now be on your way.

If you succeed, you’ll be king someday.”

As the boy left, the king said to his wife,

“I doubt we’ll see him again in this life.”

So that lad set off in search of the beast,

Always dreaming of a grand wedding feast.

He prepared not himself, for he strongly believed

That no matter what, he was bound to succeed.

He hiked over mountains and waded through streams.

His clothes were all falling apart at the seams.

His food almost out and his water unclean

The lad wanted to let out a huge scream.

H e desperately wanted to be rid of his quest

Then maybe he could fin’lly get some rest.

But he pushed himself further: “Think of your new wife,

Then you will have an enjoyable life.

So finally the lad wandered into deep fen

And waited for his encounter to begin

He walked through the fen, and feared not a bit

In his mind there was no risk of even being hit.

For in these types of stories, the hero always prevails

And always returns to collect his spoils.

So it was his right to do this, would you say?

That the hero will always save the day?

At last the lad found the beast’s den

Skeletons surrounded him, all of other men.

He stepped up to the beast without further ado

Although he had not a clue what to do.

The beast yawned aloud, and with a crunch

He rolled over on some tasty lunch

He ate the smashéd hero bold

Quickly, ‘fore the corpse grew cold