The Ballad Of St Leonard And The Dragon (Poetry)

Long ago, when Horsham was a thriving market town
of character and rural charm and god-fearing reknown,
a legend grew about a beast that stalked the forest green,
an adder of enormous length — a dragon fierce and mean.

This serpent, witnessed by so few, was variously described
with black scales running down his back and scarlet underside,
dark wing buds from his shoulders bulged as though about to fledge
and trails of noisome slime he left along the forest’s edge.

So none dared venture in the wood or cross the tainted heath,
all feared the foulness of his breath — the reek of that vile beast,
and thus the pious townsfolk sought a distant hermit’s aid
and for the good St. Leonard sent because they were afraid.

The hermit answered their request and prayed unto the Lord,
he banished snakes and silenced birds, drew power to his sword,
then fought the dragon hard and long — much saintly blood was spilt
and where it fell sweet lilies sprang, frothed creamy-white as milk.

The beast was vanquished and henceforth those fragrant flowers grew
to mark the spot as evidence the tale heretold is true,
since nightingales are seldom heard and ancient forests sleep
undisturbed while balladeers their folk traditions keep.

Now all around, old Sussex inns are named for saint or snake
to celebrate the strange account, while bravest hearts might quake
imagining between the trees a shadow moves at will
and something lurks — unnameable — where legends linger still.