The Day of the Knight
by Tony Smith

Bending on the halyard to that sheet-white bunting,
splayed across the middle with those deep red lines;
hauled to the truck
of the slim, white spruce pole,
proud to show off England with St George’s shrines.

Martyrdom in Palestine, patron Saint of England,
burnished in his armour ‘stride his great, white steed,
seeking that cavern
where lies the monster;
fearless in adversity and danger never heed.

My hooves were digging deeper as I carried his burden
Confident my master would be righting that was wrong.
Maidens under bondage,
princess was a hostage.
Death forebodes that creature with the fiery tongue.

Reigning on my snaffle bit we neared the cave entrance,
shouted to the scaly brute to heed our call.
With a thundering roar
teeth gleaming and claw,
his tail smacks my pastern bone that makes me fall.

George had held his seating but my white mane’s burning.
I pushed with all my equine might to take my stand.
Finding the chink
where the spike could sink
and the lance just drove in deeper by the thrust of George’s hand.

Never do forget our roots, our myths and legends.
Hoist the flag of passion on St Georges Day.
Twenty third of April;
England ever grateful
to the horse that bore the victor to the dragon that was slay.