The Last of His Kind

It was a horde the likes of which he’d never seen
His lord had sent him to strike the blow
A sword magically blessed

Entering the lair he had walked the labyrinth cave
He walked steadily and bravely ‘ford
Eagerly to his final test

Then the last great bearded one calmly lifted its head
The knight drew sword and drew breath
Ready for the terrible fight

But the gray eyes were wise, forlorn and years ancient
And the wyrm fire never erupted forth
And something was not right

Still the deed was done, unceremoniously quick as wind
The cavern shook and golden cups fell
All was done and all was still

The sad eyes of defeated foe made his feet fail him then
How could he recall this tale to others?
Where was the heroic kill?

But now the puzzle for tears began a sadness gripped him
But did he cry for that last noble dragon
Or for the last slayer himself?