The Legend of Forlen-Gorn
Many stories,
Don’t stand the test of time,
But this certainly has-
The story of a man who took down the
Wild, wild witch,
Of the Wild, Wild West.
A man from a town,
Called- Forlen-Gorn
Had a little big dream
To be famous one day, only by using-
His courage, and his sword.
A prophecy was spoken,
To allow him to be as brave as he could possibly be.
Despite his great big dreams,
Behind his armour
Stood a little weak man,
With hardly a moustache
And not a horse underneath his feet.
The king gave him a horse,
A fat ol’ pony if you will
His mother- a good luck kiss,
As he set off
To take down a wild, wild witch.
He met a little dragon on his way,
Blocking the only path in his way
So he gave him a loaf of bread-
Right from the place he came.
A big, great toad came next
Whom he gave,
A large enough fly to fulfil,
His hunger for days.
The unlikely hero,
‘Hee-yah-ed’ his horse
And rode his little fat pony
To the direction of the west,
Where the cowboys smoked cigars,
To meet his arch-rival
A fat ol’ witch,
With a crooked little nose
And a head so strong enough,
That it could withstand a fire all day long.
As he entered
A big, ol’ cave,
With a disgusting ol’ smell,
He took out his sword-
To meet the wild, wild witch,
Of the Wild, Wild West.
As she stood there,
Cackling over a big, large pot
Probably stewing a nasty potion
To turn a sweet little prince,
Into a disgusting old frog.
She said-‘Begone’
To the little man with the shaking knees,
But he stood there- like a statue
As terror had fixed his feet.
She shouted- ‘Abracadabra’
And knocked away his sword,
And the little wee man was stuck there
With nothing in his hand,
And had no option but to cower by hiding behind his skinny arms.
He saw a little chicken bone,
Lying near his feet
And threw it at-the fat ol’ witch,
Right on her bony knees
And somehow( I have no idea at all),
Her head so strong-
Which could withstand a fire, all day long
Cracked opened like a walnut
Quicker then the fastest tongue in the west could shout the name-
‘Forlen- Gorn’.
He climbed back upon his fat ol’ horse,
And told him to ride on-
Till they reached the town of- Forlen- Gorn.
He reached there in no time,
As there wasn’t a toad nor a dragon nearby,
To stop our ‘brave’ hero
On his way to the place where his Ma and Pa
Prayed- that their son hadn’t been chopped and sautéed so well that they won’t,
recognise him at all.
He rode on the streets of Forlen-Gorn,
Like a king- who owned a palace and all.
And the awestruck towns folk,
Ask him merrily- to the repeat the tale
Of how he slew- the great dragon of Hollen Deep,
And defeated the slimy toad of the river- Seep.
And at last they ask how he defeated the big ol’ witch,
With the crooked nose and a head so strong,
That it could it withstand a fire all day long.
His reply always remains the same- ‘A sword, the same sword I trained with, all day long.’
AryamanThePoemGuy 