When the breather of the hottest fire around,
the one who stinks the place up with brimstone
whenever she opens her mouth tells you you're cold,
you know you've succeeded in your quest
of staring down the dragon
with shining ice chips
and that its internal volcano
has frozen, momentarily.
Now, if you could just keep it from
erupting anyway, maybe next time you could
save the commonfolk
frigid deaths.