Sir George had heard the story, of a fair damsel in distress.
kept captive by the welsh dragon, up in his rocky nest,
As is the very duty, of brave young knights of old,
he set forth on his journey, to see what was foretold,
Jumping astride his trusty steed, he the crossed rolling hills,
fording through the rivers, his blood felt only thrill,
Finally upon his arrival, at far flung mountain lair,
Leaping down from horse, with sword drawn, he stepped without a care,
For slaying dragons took great might, he knew he might be killed,
but better to be proud martyr, than thought he was not skilled,
Creeping at the entrance, to darkened cave above,
he heard the sound of laughter, a sound unthinkable of,
Within the cave, Elska the brave, gave one last mighty shove,
she stood, straightened her hair, and dusted off her gloves,
Striding out of the cave, she took poor George by fright,
"Fair lady are you unhurt, who saved you from this blight,"
She looked at him a moment, a smile slowly formed,
Oh I see you want to meet HIM, and as comprehension dawned,
Why don't you go, see for yourself, if your game to venture in,
With that she left him standing there, happy with her win,
Never let it be said that chivalry is dead, but it is wise to remember,
This lady can hold her own, and is more than capable to dismember.