Not One of Us

Upon an isle of emerald green
And other shades less often seen
Set in a sea of silver hue
(To fishlessness and plastic due),
Dwelt buxom maids and hearty chaps
In plucky fiscal near-collapse.

The Saint arrived with lance and shield
To seek a holy battlefield,
And slay a wyrm, and cleanse a hex,
Rescue a wench and not have sex:
In other words, to claim as rights
The tax-free trade of native Knights.

"How dark his face! how black his hair!
A burden we're too frail to bear!
Thou beastly Turk! how durst approach here?
Now get thee back to Cappadocia!"
And where control once more was got,
The Dragon stayed, and scoffed the lot.

Samuel Grimsnipe