I remember long ago, when the air was oh-so pine sweet,
The distant sound of a Gorgon or two, shuffling giant feet.

They raided towns and villages, plundering people's storehouses,
Taking the foodstuffs, even livestock; those no-good towering louses!

A Duke would rally guards, knights and squires, along with townsfolk, too,
He would march them in battle array, knowing just what to do.

You see, it was common knowledge about the Gorgon's weakness-
That they walked bare-foot, and indeed, were extremely ticklish.

A lost art today, but not then, was to fashion from silk, strands and leather,
An incredible device, known as a "Serbule Keep Special", also as a giant feather.

Fast horseman, and yes, there were horses in those days of old,
Would race to and fro under the Gorgon's feet, tickling along the sole.

Fairly soon, a raucous laughing, would issue from a cavernous jaw,
The brute would finally succumb, teeter, teeter, and then fall;

Crashing to the ground, with waiting spearmen all around-

With well-placed pokes, stabs and jabs; all that melee stuff,
The troops would write off another troublesome behemoth.

But these many years gone by, we wonder; did we win?
Or have the Gorgon just left, and shall be back again?