Upon the barren mountain range,
His legs began to shiver.
He reached for the remaining arrow,
And pulled it from his quiver.

His only chance to live this night,
His last best chance for hope.
He cocked the arrow in his bow,
With hands as strong as rope.

The growl came forth from the night,
And stabbed into his beating heart.
Finding his most fragile place,
And striking bullseye like a dart.

He braced his legs and took a breath,
And waited for his fate.
He steeled his nerves and said a prayer,
A prayer so full of hate.

"Hear me now and hear me good,"
"You slimy little beast!"
"You ate my horse and you ate my sword,"
"But I am not your feast!"

"I will kill you now and take your head,"
"As payment for your deed!"
"And even though I have not much,"
"This arrow is all I need!"

Out of the dark and out of the night,
The beast came into view.
It saw the man and bared it's fangs,
And lunged as if on cue.

But the knight stood tall and held his ground,
Against this mighty foe.
Dwarfed in size and dwarfed in strength,
The knight surpressed his woe.

The beast drew close and the knight did move,
But not as you might think.
He aimed the arrow towards the sky,
And fired without blink.

The arrow soared high and across the sun,
And the lonely knight did kneel.
The beast did drool and the beast did smile,
As it closed upon it's meal.

All of a sudden there came a shout,
That echoed down the trail.
For all around at once there stood,
20 knights in shiny mail.

The beast saw these and came to halt,
As it gave up on the chase.
The knight had been no more than bait,
With a smile upon his face.

20 knives of stabbing pain,
Did thunder from the dark.
Striking hard and striking true,
As each one found its mark.

The beast did fall and the ground did shake,
As it tumbled to the earth.
It closed it's eyes and ceased to breath,
One century from it's birth.

The air was silent and without a sound,
Until the knight did roar.
"The beast is dead and our deed is done,"
"He will bother us no more!"

And so the brave knight did set off home,
And warm fires that do burn.
And his faithful companions did follow him,
Thankful it was not their turn.

Ode To Courage (Simon Gould)