Dragons are scaly and furious beasts,
Ferocious with hair-raising roars.
To them, fifty men is a very small feast,
And they eat flocks of sheep by the scores.
They burn every village and raid every tribe
For glittering gold they can hoard,
And every penny is then put aside
For a bed no one else can afford.
But one type of dragon does not fit the name
Of fury with infernal scales,
Nor do they breathe out a single small flame
Or raid any village or trails.
They’re golden and furry; they bounce and they scurry;
They pounce and then jet-fly away.
Their bodies are lanky; their long ears are curly;
And their tails have a silky-type sway.
Oh, they’re lively and happy and playfully nippy
And fly more with speed than with grace.
They’ve a nose a foot long, and a tongue that is sloppy,
And paws just as big as my face.
Are they a great dragon that learned how to play,
Or a giant winged dog from a dream?
No one is sure, but this we can say,
They’re the best kind of cuddles with wings!