A Dragon's Poem
I'm a knight-y kind of guy.
I scoop them up as I fly by.
From their steeds what do I pluck?
This tasty morsel that, more often than not, is surprisingly plump.
But I've been known to stray back to the common pray,
Dining on the fatty creatures, who gorge on hay.
The folk come after me, tell me I should stop.
But they always think differently with burnt crop and scorched rooftops.
I love the princesses from the highest room of the tallest tower.
Oh the look on the hero's face is priceless, when he sees that his prize has been devoured.
He makes a nice meal too,
The same cannot be said for his hairdo.
I like mead.
Tis the greatest invention of man, indeed.
I snatch it from their inns,
Then take it home and let the feasting begin.
It is strange, I must say,
How we dragons are depicted in human play.
Eating cattle, and this and that.
Wouldn't that make us rather fat?
All of which is true,
But I must remind you,
We are what we are, we cannot change,
Despite all they ask of us, we will not rearrange.
So forgive me for living in a rut,
Because honestly, I don't give a fuck.