A Dragon’s Plea
from their point of view
They say I love gold,
as if it’s all I think about;
as if it would please me to lie
amongst goblets and platters
and candle-sticks made of yellow metal. No.
What I crave is freedom — the leave
to be left alone.
The skies are mine to bring about eternity
and clouds leave droplets on my muzzle.
My scales should gleam in evening sun — this
is the gold I relish. Yes, I may take
a lamb or suckling pig, but after all, I must eat.
You’d think they could allow the loss,
but they screech their words of hatred
and I must hide from their spears and arrows.
I am a bawbee, little value
even for my skin. Nightfall veils me, but even then
I must be swift, deliver a killing blow, bring my meal
back here to this brutal cavern.
Cushions and quilts would soften my back,
but I am no pet.
My talons clack on hard stone
and I must make a bed as best I can
from strands of sea-foamed weed and tufts of grass.
Fire in my belly consumes meat
as I rest my head
and dream of freedom.
