The dragon's eye beheld me.
I stiffened as he breathed.
I was sure he smelled me.
But then he turned to leave.

He walked off with a saunter.
I sighed aloud, I fear.
But the old beast never faltered.
And I was sure he'd hear.

But then I thought.
Now hold it here.
The beast is naught.
I've nothing to fear.

You see, he was grey.
And sagging a bit.
With rheumy eyes.
That had a tic.

With wrinkled hide.
And splintered claws.
Large bent spines.
And withered paws.

But then he stopped, and snorted the air.
He blew a breath, that fluttered my hair.
He swung his head round, and grunted a bit.
And I thought to my self, I'm in deep...smit.

And then I thought, but what can he do?
He's a greying old dragon, whose name is Andrew.
He's no more fire to burn to a crisp.
So I stood my ground. Tsk. Tsk.

For he stomped up to me, and sniffed me all over.
He grumbled a bit, and almost fell over.
Then he drooled on me.

November 1997