‘Mum, what are dragons made of?’ asked the child.
‘Of many things, my dear,’ the mother said.
‘Of scales and claws, and glares of spirit wild.
‘Of dreams and magic, for which blood has shed.
‘A dragon, thus said, can be like a she.
‘A love whom you will always wish and dream.
‘Her beauty has risen up many plea
‘Of adorers who wish to see her beam.’
And after hearing this, he turned his gaze
To mountains beyond, where the sun had sunk.
‘Twas there the dragon, born of fiery blaze,
Was guarding castles full of golden junk.
‘Say, mother,’ he said, ‘when will Dad return?’
‘He won’t,’ she said. ‘Nay after greed him turn’d.’
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