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Three Ice-Dragons of Zaath, are faring South,
They strip the landscape barren of all Love.
Each holds a lifeless Champion in its mouth,
Each imitates the wolf, and mocks the Dove…

Beware their icy maws, their shepherds’ clothing,
For they can shift their shady forms, at will.
Their breath fills everyone they meet with loathing,
The scent of death hides, just beneath the chill.

They bring the dragondread, when they fly over,
(They’ve dropped the Champions, now, for fresher meat…)
The sky turns black, gone – Lost!  Is all the starlight
They’ve descended on a farmstead, now, to eat…

But braver than any Champion is the farmer,
The tip, edge, of his sword are True and Keen!
And he has loaded nails into his musket,
All-silver nails, that show a pearly sheen!

His son, likewise, is armed with sabre and long knife,
Their eyes, bright, fearless, are as blue as steel!
And carrying a pitchfork, is his old wife,
I am certain, none of them will make a meal!

…The dragons all change shape, once they have landed,
Approach the door to beg a piece of bread…
An ultimatum, rather, they are handed:
‘Fly now!  Or we will rather, leave you dead!’

Commences then, a terrible commotion,
The dragons try to change back into beasts,
But Farmer, Wife, and Son have drunk a potion,
Which gives the Strength of Thirteen Men, at least!

The Farmer fires the musket:  transformation!
Two changing back to beasts are interrupted
-- each Ice-Dragon feels now the strange sensation
Of his consumption and digestion, well-disrupted!

The old wife spears the first upon her fork!
(The speared one sees the fork has silver tines)
Into his mouth, she pops a giant cork,
And out his back each tip, each bright point, shines

The Son steps up, and throws a piece of bread,
The dragon leaps at it, and snaps, distracted,
And then the Son relieves him of his head!
(The Trouble that had come, had he not acted!)

Of all three, Zazu is the most corrupt!
More old than mountains, and meaner, the old ghast!
He changes shape, the ante has been upped!
But the Ice-Dragon forgets, now he is vast!

He stood within the barn-door when he changed!
Now, he stands trapped, and rising in his ire,
He flaps around the barn like beast, deranged!
The Farmer pours out oil, sets him afire!

Ice-Dragons are afraid of fire, it seems!
Put Fire to Ice, it makes Ice crack and melt
And soon, the dragon’s naught but puddle and steams…
As for his sword, the farmer ne’er touched the hilt
Not three, but none!  And now, the truth is spilt!
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