His gnarled hands, old with long years of age,
That had once clinched in fear, were now clinched in rage,
His back, once hunched, again grew straight,
His eyes unclouded and flashed with hatred irate.
He threw back his tattered cloak, standing straight and proud,
And no longer did he whisper, but spoke he aloud,
Death is nearly upon me, but not yet dead am I,
I will go slay this great serpent, or in trying I die,
I am a going, for I have nothing to fear,
No loss of my life, or loss of someone dear,
They have all gone before,
My family awaits me on death’s final shore,
I am a going, for I am unafraid,
This he said and drew forth his great blade.
He turned and strode away from the crowd,
Soon was he covered by the mist, in it enshroud.
Later, both the man-eating serpent and old man were found dead,
The old man fallen back against snake’s head,
The snake laid out its entire length,
The man’s age was not his weakness, but his strength.
"The only thing that anybody really knows about this author is that he is a real nutcase."
-Anonymous reporter
Well...