A friend suggested I write a poem about a dragon legend local to Sheffield. There is already a poem about this , so I decided to write a response from the dragon’s perspective.
The Dragon of Wantley
(an alternative perspective)
You sing the praises of St George
And how he slew a dragon
You’d think sending my kind extinct
Was something you should brag on
And Hercules killed one of us
Poor persecuted creatures
In stories told by humankind
Our genocide oft features.
Though I’ve been clean forgot about
I never let it haunt me
But if you’d like, I’ll tell my tale:
The dragon killed at Wantley
A mighty beast I was although
The story was inflated
I was, of course, no Trojan horse:
That bit’s exaggerated.
They said I swallowed sheep and cows
And well, perhaps I did.
Though I am sure a carnivore
I never ate no kids!
And all the dreadful things they said
About my sinus issues!
But have you heard of such a thing
As flame retardant tissues?
More of More Hall! By gum! of all
The sneaky little blighters!
St George and Hercules at least
Were honourable fighters!
But this young toff, how he’d sound off
About his skill and prowess
When all he ever seemed to do
Was blether on for hours.
Some farmers who were quite upset
because I’d ate their cattle,
Started a proper smear campaign
And More believed their tattle.
He’d take no gold from them, he said
To rid them of my presence
But claimed instead the right to bed
A girl. He was unpleasant!
And these here farmers, they agreed!
He’d have her, should he want her
And put some poor lass up to it
And they called ME a monster
And when he’d had enough of her
He went to Sheffield town
And bought some armour made of steel
he looked a proper clown.
And had this knight proposed to fight
Me, Aye! I’ve got my pride, cock!
I’d have at least agreed to feast
No more upon their livestock.
But no, this sneaky little sod
It pains me now to tell
Instead of honest combat he
Ambushed me, from a well!
Though I’d been taken by surprise
I fought him hell for leather
Until he hit below the belt
And kicked me in the nethers.
All dragons have a secret spot
Where men can bring them low
And mine’s… embarrassingly placed.
He kicked it. Now you know.
So by this rascal’s lucky kick Here’s something you can think on –
The dragons of South Yorkshire were
All driven to extinction.
Tom Juniper Poetry 