The Battle

St. George rides into battle
On his pure white steed
The words of warning come thick and fast
Alas, he does not heed.

He faces the mighty dragon
With teeth as red as blood
Its vermillion scales shine like gems
Soldier's helms are in the mud.
      
He is is covered in shining armour,
A proud red cross he spurs,
His sword is shining in the light

His route is undeterred.
The scarlet dragon faces George,
With the authority of a king,
It slams its paw down on the ground,
Ignoring a painful sting.
 
George had thrust his sword up,
Into the monsters hide,
    The beast it screams with anger,
Not ready to reside.

Saint George, he thinks he's worthy,
To slay the mighty beast,
As he throws his final blow,
He is confident of his feat.

The dragon knows he's beaten,
And does not care to die,
He sees the holy red cross,
The last image in his mighty eye.

Saint George he cries triumphant,
As silver blood races down his arm,
He holds his sword up in the air,
And grips a scale, tight in his palm.

Emma Woodcock