A Thomas Tale (True Boast)

In a land of the free, a home of the brave,

Lived the son of Patrick, known once as

A lionhearted leader, a winner of wars.

And so Patrick’s preeminent son boasted:

“Put down ye chalices of mead and listen

Here to me. Have you forgotten of what the

Story-rag told? Was it not I, who many fortnights ago

Headed out of my home, boldly venturing

Into the sky-flames broiling blistering heat?

Have you not seen my stature,

Standing seven feet tall, built thicker than a wall?

I tell you, my fearful friends, to fear no longer.

Unbeknownst throughout these halls is the Story of Snap, a wretched reptile who resided in the

Deep dark underground, beneath the concrete,

In the rotten river-wastes of man.

And so Snap would prowl along like a

Slow ticking bomb, his skin weathered and rough,

His armor nigh impenetrable, with sharp claws scratching,

Spiked-tail dragging, and a bite so

Fierce it was known to take a man’s head clean off.

He had eyes that were wise with years, never blinking,

Yet forever peering into the bleak black prison

Snap called home. And so it was that I,

Thomas, waited calmly for the sky-flames

Burnout, and for its soft shimmering sister to rise in its place.

Then out I charged in my great iron-chariot,

Faster and faster into the night,

To slay the spiteful Snap, when swiftly I bounced

Over a bump, and oh, what a sight!

It was Snap, headed halfway across the stone path

which I had rode. His armor was crushed, his body lay

still, and I forever deemed him the worthiest of road-kill.

Of treasure there was none but fame and glory, and

I knew that I would forever live in man’s stories.

Now drink, my friends, and rejoice. The malicious fiend

Shall soon be no more,

And so fate shall bring me to slay the beast that belittles you.

That innocent-looking swindler of food

Will die the same death by iron-chariot too.”