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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required GUARDIAN OF HAUTE-SAVOIE At Pointe Percee, a dragon's lair: A hotspot where no tourist stamps their passport. The roar of dragon’s mating, females laying eggs. Wings of rushing waterfalls, winds of alcoholic breath. They yearn to take flight, to frighten the deep and dark. A guardian of Haute-Savoie reclines in lush meadows, sainted an emerald green, reflecting the warm glow of his knighted eyes. A shepherd, by trade. A slingshot warrior of fame. High cobblestone walls, show not the weather, the extreme thermometer rises on the other side. Dug down deep, as well, no tremor is felt. A false sense of security is managed with haste. Sudden change of altitude, children stare and point, at scales shimmering hypnotic silver blues, the clang of gold-like change deafens the ears of the populace of Haute-Savoie. A cloud of the darkest smoke casts a wicked shadow across the trembling sky, a cast witch’s spell, a thick caldron. Haute-Savoie on full alert, the knight's protected with armor bright, shiny, innocent - like a defeated dartboard. But for a shield and sword, secreted away for such a time as this. A shepherd steps forth wearing no crown, no badge of honor, no crest, no heavy armor. Just a lamb wrapped over his chest. His feet steady, his aim high. This powerful knight of the kingdom uses his slingshot to grab the reptile’s slimy skin and propel himself above his chosen world onto the back of a screeching creature. He tames the flame, with psaltery psalms, and calms the beast. Like a child, he fights the myriad beasts with truth not lies. He offers peace. The shallow dragon's set a feast upon his thighs. The Knight of Haute-Savoie swings his sword, protects himself from burps and vomit of wretched fire. No hero’s without injury - without momentary doubts, burning eyes, burns, cuts, and bruises. His lovely Haute-Savoie hurt but not engulfed by the dragon’s rage. Children cheer, not with joy, but with courage beyond their years. Many hugging fallen moms, dads, aunts, uncles, friends, and cousins. Plunging the final dagger into his predatory chariot, it slowly plunges to the ground, leaving a huge beech-like scar. The hero, slides down the dragon’s scales, and bows to all of the heroes on the ground. Tears create the great Haute-Savoie Lake. 5/15/2017 Collaborated Poem Contest Collaboration with Eve Roper’s Dragon of Haute-Savoie © 4/23/17 1st Place
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