The dragon slept in the cheesy dust, He rolled in Wensleydale craters. He lit the sun with tangerine flames And polished his scales so he shone Like a comet as he shot through the skies And just as I spotted his pearl white eyes, And I knew he was real, darting about, He fell from the clouds and crashed to the ground, And his shape turned to dust, Which I swept with a brush, And kept in a pot, To smoke in a pipe, To release in my lungs, along with some tar, An old dragon friend who’s flown from afar.
'wensleydale's craters' nice line good imagery and overall adjectivenessly um...well it's good really.
