Stonewyrms

The dragons flew to the village
When the glaciers receeded.
Before the humans came to found the village
In the hills
They all moved up the valley
As the valley slowly heated –
A conflict scratched by ancient claws
And knapped by stone-age skills.

The dragons lived on cliff-tops,
Where they found the up-draughts bracing,
And yet up here upon the fells, the scarp
Was ev’ry bit as steep
The humans sought the uplands
For protection and for grazing,
With their wooded winding valleys
And their moorlands full of sheep.

But the dragons had a taste for mutton,
Raiding flocks and rustling folds –
While the humans found the lizards rich,
And slow when on their shanks.
So they hunted ev’ry dragon
That came sniffing round their barren holds,
And they feasted on their breastmeat
And they tanned their wings and flanks.

But down in the valley woodlands,
Where the dragons couldn’t grace,
So the tribes would coppice trees for fuel,
As soon as the saplings bend.
But the deer were a constant nuisance
As they trampled through the place,
And they nibbled the shoots at liberty,
Refusing to be penned.

But Evolution played her hand,
Ten thousand years or more,
As she favoured drakes who favoured deer,
Whose does were scarce in dearth.
And the humans were quite happy
If they thinned the herds a score,
And all stayed-away from pastures
And gave folks a wider berth.

So into the flightless forests they came,
Where the trees would crowd the sky,
And they stalked the stags upon all-fours,
Or scampered up a tree.
And their back legs grew more sturdy
With a pouncing, kicking thigh,
And their wings were less-times called-upon
Beneath the canopy.

Yes, they still would glide above the valley,
Though they rarely soared,
As they rode upon the thermals
And they roosted on the scarp.
Their flaplings, once they’d left the nest
Would gather in a horde,
And would chase the rodents round the barns
To keep their talons sharp.

The farmers even reckoned
They had not the strength to leave,
Now their flying was more like that of a hen
Than of a lark.
Good enough to get them airborne,
Good enough to catch the breeze,
But no good for migrating
Once the days were getting dark.

Neither side were loners,
In their small communities,
As they looked-after their own,
And yet would not harass the strays.
And they’d sometimes come-together
In those opportunities
For the curious on both sides
To regard their neighbours’ ways.

So by the Middle Ages,
They had reached a careful dance,
Where the humans let them hunt for rats and deer,
By nature’s law.
And yes, the windows in the church
Showed George’s famous stance,
Yet those self-same beasts proved lucrative
When pilgrims watched in awe.