Death Via Boredom: a Dragon's Demise

Death Via Boredom: A Dragon's Demise Stamping forth from his lair, Preceded by billows of smoke The great dragon's murderous red-eyed glare Penetrated the gloom as he wrathfully spoke. "Who dares to disturb my thoughtful repose?" Thundered the Worm, rocking back on his heels. "'Tis another fool knight after me, I suppose, Come to discover how a broiled lobster feels." 'Twas no powerful knight come to attack, But a mere magician's apprentice who met his fell gaze. The boy humbly bowed, and the beast was taken aback, This lad was scarce worthy of setting ablaze. "Oh Great and Glorious Worm!" The child addressed him humbly. "I have traveled to see you through sun and through storm." The dragon, amazed, regarded him dumbly. This pilgrim went on: "Your wisdom is spoken of Through lands far and wide. From you I would fain learn. For men are so foolish, and learning's my love, So it's to your edification I turn." The dragon smiled, full of reptilian pride, And decided to grant the youth's noble whim. Certain his wisdom was known far and wide, He would teach the fool something, before torching him. "What shall we discuss?" asked the Worm, settling down. "Why, things of importance, of course", said the lad. "Tell me of things that make the wise frown. With but a pinch of your knowledge I shall go away glad." "You are, Noble Worm, mighty and learned and old, And many have perished in your fearsome breath. I dread and respect you, being one not so bold, But be warned: we academics may talk one to death." The beast laughed long at such a preposterous thought, Then engaged his guest in conversation. The young pup argued well, and soon he was caught, Entangled in deep meditations. They spoke about natural sympathies, Of the merits of wealth and of self-isolation. They pondered metaphysical antipathies; Fine points of etiquette and of philosophy's consolations, No telling how long the scholarly prattle Dragged on, 'til sleep stole over a bored beastie's eyes. His guest then slew him without the trouble of battle With poison tipped daggers jammed into his soft inner thighs. Taking leave later, laden with valuable dragon parts, He was heard to mumble wearily to himself: "How the proud love to hold forth on other's arts, Though to stray from the known can be bad for the health."