The knucker curled around the village well,
Its orange scales taking fire from the sun;
It tasted the air with its black forked tongue
And on the stones sharpened its talons fell.
Its belly full of suckling pigs and sheep,
Fangs dripping venom to the poisoned well,
The dragon slept; meanwhile, the Old Kirk bell
Tolled souls of missing children to their sleep.
The villagers all thirsted and despaired,
For none were strong enough to slay the beast,
And knights were scarce. And so, the following day,
They emptied their houses, said their last prayers
Over their family graves, then slipped away
Before the cruel dawn bloodied the east.
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