A Wyvern by Any Other Name

A Wyvern by Any Other Name.

In one of yesterday’s posts, A Tale of Mystery, I wrote of a statue outside the Town Hall in my home town back in Ireland.   For many years, the ‘powers that be’ have tried to have it removed but the local people successfully fought to keep it in situ.   It is a weird thing, seeing that the town is (or should I now say was) very Catholic.  During religious processions through the town, one Canon insisted on having it covered from top to bottom.   In fact no one cared and would hate to see it go.   I wrote this little poem about ‘him’ and what ‘he’ has seen throughout the 130 years since he first appeared……… 

‘ Nick’  the Old Devil.

He sits and stares down Main Street,

At all going on round his feet,

He sees all and knows all but says not a word,

It’s the devil himself but that’s absurd,

What the hell is he doing in the centre of town,

His staring eyes make the old people frown,

The Canon, he tried to turn him around,

But Old Nick decided to stay.

Some say it’s a Wyvern from Lord Meath’s crest,

But they say it’s the Devil, and they always know best.

The shield that he holds oh so close to his heart,

Is there in case someone tries tear it apart,

But they say that Old Nick ‘Don’t give a fart’,

For the Canon, the Bishop or even the Pope,

For them there is not even one ounce of hope,

While Old Nick wants to stay in Bray.

He’s seen people come and he’s seen people go,

On the Eve of All Hallows, he puts on a fine show,

But they won’t be sad when at last he is gone,

When one of these days he decides to move on,

With the rest of the youngsters to Brit  or U.S.,

And they say that no one will create a fuss

If he goes on the Dart or he goes on the bus,

As long as Old Nick makes his way.

(The Dart is the local railway)

-------Mike-----