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My Hero. 

I once had a Hero quite bold,
His armour and sword were of solid gold.
He rescued Princesses in his spare time,
Then he wrote verse in ancient rhyme.
He fought Dragons for Ladies in distress,
Killing those dragons he made quite a mess.
Now he is retired and stays at home,
No more this dangerous world to roam.
He still writes of his ancient verse,
Which does not get better but decidedly worse.
In his dreams he fights Dragons galore,
Without which his dreams are a bore.
His armour and sword of solid gold,
He passed on to someone more bold.
Isn’t it sad that he now dreams?
Of glories past or so it seems.