Draconic Demise
Fire and smoke and ash: the giant wyrm’s exhaust,
Diatomaceous, last of dragons, now his life was lost.
Not to some errant knight or kingly paladin he,
No, the last of all the dragons died—a pitiful sight to see.
It wasn’t from the burning virgins, though many did he take,
Or from the towns he left in ashes, few survivors in his wake.
It wasn’t some great cataclysm, like the ice ages or a comet,
Nor was it germs and disease that made the behemoth vomit.
All is chance, one might say, when I tell you of his demise:
For what killed the last of dragons will come as a great surprise.
Bragging of his power, might, and overstated girth,
The dragon’s mouth proved his demise, cutting short his smug worth.
He swallowed, of course by accident, a little bug, a bee,
Which rattled round his throat, causing great agony.
He belched and coughed and tried to spit, the bug wouldn’t leave.
It couldn’t escape because it was caught as if in a sieve.
But it poked, prodded, stung, and then buzzed for the colony,
A swarm of bees, ten thousand plus, ascended in a frenzy.
They made short work of that frightful beast, now no more, to say,
But guard your lips, lest words let slip, and lead to great dismay.
Diatomaceous, last of dragons, now his life was lost.
Not to some errant knight or kingly paladin he,
No, the last of all the dragons died—a pitiful sight to see.
It wasn’t from the burning virgins, though many did he take,
Or from the towns he left in ashes, few survivors in his wake.
It wasn’t some great cataclysm, like the ice ages or a comet,
Nor was it germs and disease that made the behemoth vomit.
All is chance, one might say, when I tell you of his demise:
For what killed the last of dragons will come as a great surprise.
Bragging of his power, might, and overstated girth,
The dragon’s mouth proved his demise, cutting short his smug worth.
He swallowed, of course by accident, a little bug, a bee,
Which rattled round his throat, causing great agony.
He belched and coughed and tried to spit, the bug wouldn’t leave.
It couldn’t escape because it was caught as if in a sieve.
But it poked, prodded, stung, and then buzzed for the colony,
A swarm of bees, ten thousand plus, ascended in a frenzy.
They made short work of that frightful beast, now no more, to say,
But guard your lips, lest words let slip, and lead to great dismay.
70-79, MNew