The Shell of Fulk Lake

Beneath the waters dark and still,

A shadow glides where lilies bend,

Its massive form obeys no will,

A secret that the lakes defend.

The fishermen who nightly tend

Their nets have glimpsed a glimmering dome,

A back like stone, no sign to lend,

Yet tales persist from foam to foam,

The Beast of Busco guards its watery home.

It surfaces where the moonlight gleams,

A head like ancient iron worn,

Reflected in the watchers’ dreams,

By trembling hearts both awed and torn.

The lake holds secrets, legends born,

Of teeth, of claws, of ripple’s wake,

Its presence silent as the dawn,

A monstrous form no man can stake,

The Beast of Busco moves, and none may break.