Dragon Protocol

When meeting a dragon for the first time
there is a protocol to be followed:
fiery breaths at a hundred paces and a
returning of anything that has been borrowed.

At fifty paces they unfurl their wings
and thrash to birth a thunder storm.
And then they ride the lightning and the rain and the fury,
on and on until the dawn.

At ten paces their hyacinth eyes may well
flutter and wave and tease;
Dragons are not bound by stereotypes and
will do whatever they damn well please.

Nor are Dragons afraid to cry,
their tears are yellow fractal lights,
that mesmorise and hypnotise and
seduce with a strange delight.

Dragons live in worlds we cannot see,
great lava liquid eyes windows to tomorrow.
And if you meet that gaze – then one of these days –
you’ll hear “I have something I think you ought to borrow…”

Oh beware what you borrow from the Dragon’s horde,
for it will be powerful and peculiar.
Passionately inspired but foolish to desire:
Dragons have a dangerous sense of humour.

Dragons are born of air, fire and magic.
I’m told there’s water and earth in their too.
And their wisdom is equal parts insight and nonsense.
But which is which? And which one is true?

In a maze of mirrors – waiting for dinner –
the coiled snake skin emperor resides.
No mirror can catch him and no human eye can match him –
and he whispers: “I think you’re ready to be taken for a ride!”

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