A Book of Heroes
A glut of heroes makes a legend dull.
All's not believed where all is true and good, All rescued in the tiny interval Between the dragon's jaws. Once understood, The moral laws make every George a saint Who rescues maidens only through constraint.
The real hero is not sure at all, Surrounded by warm courtesans whose sloth Lulls action in the fierce barbarian hall With drugs and wine. He stokes a spurious wrath To sally out, befuddled on his horse, Against the dragon. And then wins, of course.
Yet though the prancing hero's only part Of the whole story, and the improving tale Fails since its end is guessed before the start (The scribes being bribed before he hits the trail), What boor would question what's already said When he comes back, lugging the dragon's head?
ANTHONY THWAIT1
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