St. George wounded his dragon with a lance
Then harnessed it with a lady’s girdle.
He slew the beast to force an alliance
Of the faithful; its blood did not curdle.
A spring of healing water spurt instead.
Some say death is evil, but evil’s dead —
Michael dispatched the devils with a sword,
Detachment in his face, without a word.
Today, evil walks this world with big eyes,
With boots of lambskin and silken drawers,
Laughing with untruths while telling no lies,
Without even a passion for lawyers.
Save us, Michael Archangel, from ourselves,
Haul back hiding Satan from where he delves.
