Snuffing the Dragon

Snuffing the Dragonby Mike Allen

 

Pity the harvester of dragon phlegm,
whose task is to collect those smoldering gobs—
’tis no surprise there are not more of them.

One molten glop worth more than any gem,
yet higher still the toll for these hot jobs.
Pity the harvester of dragon phlegm.

This ever-burning undousable phlegm
lures merchants far and wide in wheedling mobs.
Surprised, you say, there are not more of them?

To aim the snuff requires a stratagem
that lets one dodge the flaming, hurtling blobs,
(Pity the harvester of dragon phlegm!)

and dragons’ temperaments tend to condemn
to fiery death these enterprising squabs.
’Tis no surprise there are not more of them.

A phlegm-collector’s wife (Ai! Pauvre femme!)
is known by her black veil and mournful sobs.
Pity the harvesters of dragon phlegm,
’tis no surprise there are not more of them.

 

Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *