When I spotted Saint George in a van,
I feared that his horse might be lame.
Or worse, in a Doggomeat can,
when hurt in some chivalric game.
Saint George, it appeared was not happy,
now carried around in this way.
He used to dress well and quite snappy,
with armour and sword on display.
It didn’t seem right, when I saw him,
in wellies and minus a hat.
I expect my Saint to be trim,
not looking like some bureaucrat.
“You there!” said Saint George to a swain,
“I need you to help with my quest.
They’re wanting a Dragon thing slain,
because it’s becoming a pest.”
“Noble Saint, may it please you to hark,
‘tis Ramblers and Naturalists Day.
They’re swarming all over his Park
and demanding a new Right of Way.”
“Yon Dragon is hid in his cave,
all cringing from lads and the lasses.
He claims he’s no longer so brave,
when facing the wrath of the masses.”
The Saint then climbed back in his banger,
but soon got it stuck in the mud.
He next was assailed by the clamour
of peace keepers baying for blood!
The Entrance, he got a surprise,
when told he must purchase a ticket.
‘For seeing a Dragon who cries,
when hiding behind a small thicket!’
Saint George soon fastened his tabard,
(of bio-degradable tin),
then drew out his gun from its scabbard
and gingerly ventured within.
“Brave Saint! You have come and will save me,
before I am forced back to crime
or ghastly do-gooders enslave me.
Thank goodness you’ve got here in time.”
“I’ve finished all Dragonly trades
and prisoners now been released.
I love little children and maids.
My fire fighting days are all ceased.
Saint George said, “I must go ahead.
This isn’t the world as we knew it.
The age of old Chivalry’s dead.”
He pointed his gun – and he slew it!
For Judy's "Hail to the Dragon Slayer' Competition.