The Gryphon

The lord of the wild; of earth and skies,
The king of birds, the cat that flies,
A mighty beast of double form,
A feathered hide of lion worn.

A creature thought to be absurd,
A mythic lord of beast and bird.
Its cry is heard throughout the land,
Its shadow cast so great and grand.

It flaps its wings, takes to the sky -
Those who’ve seen it seldom lie,
“The gryphon comes!” They often shriek,
“I saw its cruel, unholy beak!”

Then out they come, the peasant-folk,
With burning flames and forks to poke
And jab and jeer and cruelly tease
The monster brought down to its knees.

The poor old gryphon; its wings are torn,
Its legs are beaten, its head is worn
Upon the wall of some great lord;
A treasure of the rich-man’s horde.

Centuries pass, the head is lost,
It lies amidst the rocks and moss
Its species dies and fades away;
Now brings us up to modern day.

The head is found again and said
“No beast like this was ever dead!
It could not live, there is no way!
This thing is false, throw it away!”

For in this world of law and fact,
Where wizards do no more than act,
The gryphon’s world became a lie -
The land in which the legends die.