"The Dragon of Dumferlie"...an original poem by mepatriot

This was one of those "just for fun," poems I occasionally write. Sometimes it's more fun to set ourselves free from satire, allegory, double meanings, and the like...and just write!

The Dragon of Dumferlie

They say dragons is only found in myth and in legend.
MY HEAVEN!
Then they say they were so feared they never appear in names.
THAT'S INSANE.
Try and find a name starting with “Dr...” ye can't!
DRIZILLA, MY AUNT?
Oh come now, that's not a real name, tell the truth..
AH...FORSOOTH.

Well, I want ye to know that I personally know a real dragon.
EMPTIED YOUR FLAGON?
No, I am serious, pull up a chair and give me your heed.
I WILL INDEED.
His name is Fleagels and he lives with the seagulls on the cliffs of Dumferlie.
Oooooh...I SEE.
He loves to sing and dance the jig and play at marbles and bowling.
NOW YOU'RE ROLLING.
No! I swear, I'll take ye all there when the fog on the cliffs next lift.
YOUR MIND'S ADRIFT.

The conversation went on this way for a good and duly time.
T'WAS TRULY SUBLIME.
Until the crowd in the pub began to think that maybe it could be true.
SAYS WHO, YOU?
Yes, says I, ye thankless tosser. Whose poem is this anyway?
ALRIGHT, OKAY...
Will ye let me now finish me tale? T'is harder by the hour.
(HE NODS with A GLOWER.)

The party decided after much discussion to up and have a look.
(SENSE FORSOOK.)
None can remember if any were left sober as they scrambled to the loo.
THAT MUCH IS TRUE.
When they marshaled outside to take their leave, the wind suddenly rose high.
OH NO. OH MY.
And 'ere they could even make their plan, a creature their spot o'erflew.
WHO? PRAY TELL. WHO?

Green and gold, and a thousand years old, the monster was over a rod long.
THAT'S WRONG.
Well almost, and I rarely boast or overshoot me mark. T'was enormous!
YOU'RE DRUNK, OF COURSE.
I only drank from itsy wee glasses, and I don't think I had too many.
ABOUT TWENTY.
Will ye let me now finish me tale? T'is harder by the minute.
I DON'T DOUBT IT.

So I call “Fleagels!” with the voice I always used to gather me beagles.
YOU RAISE BEAGLES?
Not, now, Joe, not now...Can't ye see I'm on the final approach?
IT'S DRAGONS YOU NOW POACH?
It swooped down low before we could think and then disappeared in a blink.
HAVE ANOTHER DRINK.
I'm gonna ignore ye now, and just try and finish me story.
AH...HE'S IN HIS GLORY.

The boys say t'was black with a dash of white, not the least bit green and gold.
I'M SOLD.
T'was no more than a yard, an eagle they said, and nowhere near long as a rod.
I'M OVERAWED.
But they were wrong I tell ye, I know me Fleagles, and if I may be so bold...
SO YOU'VE TOLD.
He's coming to town this very afternoon to settle some debts.
HE BETS?
He does indeed, like any man, and loses his fair share, but when he loses,
unlike us, he burns up everyone there.
WHAT AN AFFAIR!

The pub never emptied quite so fast as when the tale had ended,
For a fire suddenly burst into being, flashing from kitchen unattended.
Nobody knew an electric fuse blew, and to everyone there it was clear,
Fleagels had come to fix up his score and perhaps to have one last beer.

(At Amity, 12.15.16)