A lass (name of Molly)
With wicked dark eyes
And a pair of sharp daggers
Strapped to her pale thighs
(I thought Oak should at least get a chance at a love-interest!)
(so did I, hence the barmaid...)
She tossed her black curls
And flashed her dark eyes,
Said 'It's Oak, by my troth -
Well, what a surprise!'
Oak puffed out his chest,
Tried to look debonair
(It's not hard to impress
When fresh from drakes lair)
With a flash of her cleavage
His eyes popped straight out
And with a tip of his stool
Thrown back with a shout
He got to his feet
With an unmanly blush
Said 'I must go'.
She said 'What's the rush?'
She drew him aside
And with tenderest care
She plucked out a spider
Which had caught in his hair
She ran her cool fingers
Down his doublet (outside)
And asked him quite boldly
If he'd chosen a bride.
Oak stuttered and stammered,
Was quite at a loss,
He'd forgotten his meeting
With his erstwhile boss
Those cool searching fingers
Were turning to steel
He couldn't escape -
How did that make him feel?
Seemingly stuck
With this strange femme fetale,
He thought that his boss'
Reaction'd be lethal.
But the wizard (it seems)
Was quite non-existant,
Twas Molly who'd sent Oak
To drakes lair so distant!
'Faith, 'twas I all along'
as she said with a smile;
But beneath the joy brought,
Lay, for Oak, a new trial.
The terrible dragon
Was merely a test,
To find a true hero,
And only the best
There is someone far worse
That brave Oak must confront;
A peculiar man
By the name of Sir Grunt.
Sir Grunt was a warlord
Of the very worst kind,
He was vicious, tyrannical,
A truly warped mind!
He dwelt in East Finchley
Near the Northern Line tube
He stroked his striped cat
As he sucked a jujube.
'You must fight him, brave Oak,
Or I won't give my love,
As Sir Grunt is the man
Sent my father above.'
Now Molly was no faint-heart,
She'd courage to spare,
But for reasons her own
To fight Grunt she'd not dare
Ywis, foolhardy 'twould be
Although Molly was brave,
Because Grunt wished to send
All her folks to the grave.
