Poetry for the Diet of a Dragon

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Tarquin the Dragon
Likes ice cream on toast
pizza and pie,
Rhubarb crumble made by a ghost
Followed by a nice Sunday roast
Deep fried
And marinated
In liquidised corpses of fly. . . .
And he will eat pumpkin seeds
As long as they are a bright bright red
And he once ate baked beans
By did not like them, he said
He likes iron filling with a hint of rust
And salt on his porridge is an absolute must
He will even eat tin
If it is served right
Wrapped round a grumpy medieval knight
Who as you might expect
Will complain when the dragon
Takes his first bite
He once ate three witches
From a Shakespearian play
And would have eaten the prince and the princess
But they both ran away
And he is partial to Poet
And says they taste of snow
And who could resist glow worms
When they start to glow
And every dragon
Likes toad and frog soup
Some anchovies and garlic
With an accessional Spaghetti hoop
And a big bowl of hot wizard stew
And a nice bit of Harry Potter gristle
On which to have a good chew
All washed down with some camomile tea
Accompanied by a bit of
Rancid fermented Bree

 

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More Poetry for Fantastic Beasts (Dragons)

A bit More Poetry for Fantastic Beasts or in this case Dragons, because everyone likes a dragon or two

 

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.
Before going to look for a dragon
Folk will often drink a double flagon
Of extra strong homebrew beer
And as they enter a dark gloomy cave
Feeling apprehensive but somewhat brave. . .
This as we know, being the traditional dragon’s lair.
They will often wave a large sword about
And then very loudly loudly shout
By all alas to no avail
Because quite frankly
The dragon
Will not
Care as it sits preening its scaly tail
Because as we know
Dragons are extremely rare
So are now a protected species
By law
So even as the dragon
Flicks out all the talons on its
Extremely large scary claw
It will remind you of this fact
Before it then attacks
And you end up
All sore red and raw
Scratched from head to foot
And to the core
.
And its all the fault
Of those knights of old
Who were unaware of
The implications
That would unfold
Of killing Dragons
On their quest
To do knightly
Things
Bringing the life of
Dragons
To an untimely
.
.
END

Poetry for Slugs and Dragons

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Slugs are slow and create a trail of slime
And can travel surprisingly far given time
Creating slimy trails upon your floor
On the carpet and on the door
And at night when you are asleep in bed
So you will find you wake up with a slimy head
And slimy feet and slimy hair
Which if you like slugs then you will not care
Slugs are friendly critters and tend to smile
Although some folk insist they are rather vile
But they really are happy beasts and like to sing
As they eat all your nice new plants in the Spring
However they live in fear of the scary toad
And will tell him the slugs are greener across the road
And when the toad starts to cross, to go and see
All the slugs will start to flee
In order to hide under your gardening hat
Hoping that on the road the toad
Goes Splat
.
.

So when did you last see a dragon
One that breaths fire and smoke
Was it at the market last Friday?
Being pursued by a superhero
Wearing a long flowing cloak
Or was it battling with a knight
With a sword and bright shiny armour
Or maybe it was snoring
In a dark Welsh cave
Which certainly sounds a lot calmer?
The thing is dragons are rare
Having been chased up and down
Roundabout
And here and there
With their reputation for eating folk
Which dragons insist
Is just a terrible joke
Entirely untrue
A rumour spread by knights
Back in the middle ages
Then spread by the writers of books
Troublesome cooks
And even a flock of mischievous rooks