“There be dragons there!” loud came the cry
In ancient times
There piled the dead who wandered by
Who did not the legends know.
For myths and legends fill the mind
Who won, who lost, who died.
In all the battles tween beast and man
Only the young and brave survived.
When Sigurd slayed Fafnir it’s said,
A horde of elfish gold he won,
When the darkened, dragon blood that bled,
Covered him, made him new.
When Lewis talked of tragedy,
a soul in a dragon’s torment
An angel broke the serpent’s back
The steed, freeman, new raiment.
And Holy George who tamed the beast
Then slew it to the ground,
To free a princess from its grasp,
To save a nearby town.
For all the legends common ground
In all the myths and stories,
The brave young slayers’ win the day
And goodness and healing and glory.
“I desired dragons with a profound desire. Of course, I in my timid body did not wish to have them in the neighborhood. But the world that contained even the imagination of Fáfnir was richer and more beautiful, at whatever the cost of peril.”
―
Paul Russell: Musings 