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Rated: E · Prose · Fantasy · #2126551
Is there magic, In that Smoke on the water? Some say there be.
Line count 35

Dragons, There Be

There once was a great Wyvern who often rose from the sea.
He cavorted happily dancing upon the waters in the late months of Spring.
Joannie Pippin, a not so fancy young girl, loved the scamp she called Smoke don’t you see.
He had saved her from the grips of the briny deep upon whose waters she had choked.
For out there in the oceans, the sailors do warn, "Dragons, there be."

For his bravery, she wished upon him silks, dark golden wines, and other lavish things.
Each morning, Smoke the green Wyvern rose from the sea.
He played in the mist, singing of lands too far off to see.
They lived free, off the shore of Grand Gallery, there nourished by their hopes and their dreams.
For you see, out there as the sailors do warn, "Dragons, there be."

Together the two would voyage upon the great wet, Smoke’s wings their mighty sails.
Joannie ever nestled firm and safe from catastrophe, as she rode on Smoke's wide neck.
Their journeys chaotic, in many directions they traveled, as the rudder used, his swishing tail.
Each morning their adventures did start, just off the coast of the Grand Gallery.
The place where the land met the sea and the sailors did warn, "Dragons, there be."

All the kings, their princes, and horsemen did bow whenever they should pass.
The pair ever safe from their wars and when ships grew too near, Smoke roared out his true name.
Though Joannie couldn’t pronounce it, she loves him for his comfort and cares all the same.
But those captains they knew the dangers and their courses did change but fast.
As they all knew they would not last, as the sailors gave warning, "Dragons, there be."

Oh, Wyvern, are forever. Always they stay the same. But not so are little girls.
Seaweed dolls and little seal pups make way for grown up things that all one day will fade
On a dark, foggy morning it happened, Joannie Pippin came no more.
And Smoke, that mighty green Wyvern lost his will to roar.
Then for a time, the sailors thought, no more, "Dragons, there be."

Of Smoke, the sea raged, rising higher with the splash of each enormous tear.
Fron the weight of his sorrow his wings deflated, his scales molted, sinking deep into the sea.
Smoke, he no longer came out to play, on those shores of the Grand Gallery.
For without his heart’s stave, Smoke could not be brave, not having anyone left to save.
Smoke, lay on the floor of the dark salty wet, and for a long time no more, "Dragons, there seen."

But, worry not should you find yourself tossed into a sea with its torrents there swelling around you.
Fear not the crash of those angry waves, or the stormy winds that ride upon them.
For in the morning mist, just below the surface, flies a creature possessing a magic to surround you.
Be unconcerned about pronouncing his real name, for there is comfort in that Smoke upon the water.
See in cold misty mornings, off the Grand Gallery sailors give warnings, "Out there, Dragons, there be."

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