He has no love of dragons

Foul beasts are they, and pure

Pure in evil and love of dust

With beauty and allure



His Lord hath bid him slay them

And though he’s had enough

He’s  having trouble piercing true

That lovely rascal, Puff



For in seasons when he’s carried

This, his rider, through the mist

Together they would cry and pray

And by the Fates be kissed



So with a heavy heart he must

Hold his breath and close his eyes

Stepping out in faith, he’ll trust

Until God’s face, his own descries



He feels a bit like Abraham

With Isaac on the pyre

He must obey and ****** his sword

Right through his heart of fire