The epic tale of Emillion the goat

The tale of Emillion the goat.

The sweet swirling sounds of the Saracen cascading among the empty grasslands soothed the way for the winged warrior.
Many hundreds of years of suffering past had led to this day of reckoning.
Jenkle berries glistening with dew in the morning sun; hues of amber and purple mingled through the dank green undergrowth of vine weebles.
Martinique figures adorning the lamp standards of every day folk in the future would tell of this epic battle.

Many eons before the dawn of time
The Saracens watched and waited in lime,
Whilst all around green indolent toad
Attacked with glee, faces covered in woad

Amphibian scum floating idle all day
Would look upon Saracen as naught but prey
Despised and loathed with venomous passion
Yet equally sparse in their unique fashion.

They stooped to conquer one and all
Had no recollection of ever the fall
None had ever been up to the mark
But stirred now to action the Saracen spark.

Emillions! created for those who had money
Specifically to gather gregorian honey
With ears full of velvet as was their  mantra 
Bred to be immune from the deadliest chanter.

The song that was sung by gregorian folk
Wreaked havok on saracens, certainly no joke
Passed on by the ancients yet never bye rote
Each generation different; Then so to the goat.

Magnificent creature defender of the poor
Knew only of sorrow; caged when on tour
Round the country he'd travel earn pay for his master
Greedy for more they would work him still faster.

Was a fortunate summer saw honey decline
When the poor discovered a bottomless mine
Full of ambrosia the stores of old gods
Long now departed it evened the odds.

Until the great rising of watery road
Which let in the likes of weasel and toad
Weasel defeated without much of a clatter
As for toad? a different matter.

Forged in the centuries of torture forbidden
long time devourers of things from the midden
sublime in the art of constructural goad
not many could answer the wrath of the toad.

Sarcastic laughter a beauty to behold
except by those recieving the ultimate load
Many a mere mortal their own hearts would rip
As to stand and be counted lest they hear the next quip.

Many years downtrodden disaster in the making
Older generations sat full with hearts breaking
What pains for the children what horror in store
Shall we live in submission for ever and more?

A resolute farmer the first to revolt
By taking to arms an Emillion goat
With its bear like proportions and Elephant hide
Swiftly despatching of toad to the side.

Grasping uncertainty heard loud and clear
A rallying cry for others draw near
Soon many were marching a vast humane throng
As they did march, all singing same song…

“Toad, Toad, it’s the end of the road we have seen through your anger and relish your woad”
“Toad, Toad, to lighten our load we will meet you at daybreak and clear our road”

Toads only response as had been in the past
Was to dismiss the affair as it would not last
They did not yet know of the Emillion goat
And how very soon they would swim their own moat.

One morning at daybreak caught unaware
Only thing able to do was to stare
As the goat with its passion for hatred drew near
And a pathway to happiness was drawn loud and clear.

Toads tossed and mangled left many for dead
Limbs rent asunder some left with no head
No quarter given no ifs and no buts
Only remembrance a moat full of guts.

Emillion goat placed on pedestal high, 
Fell off the next morning was destined to die
For mixture of species was long past forbidden
Except in the cases where very well hidden.

Goat by his deed had signed his death warrant
For angels hath no mercy for something abhorrent
Yet still we will remember as walk down the road
As free men of England unsullied by toad.

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