Untamed, me dragon remains.
Unashamed, me dragon retakes.
Unbidden, me dragon stays hidden.
Unridden (as yet), me dragon lies some place (perhaps, even, in that bed she makes).
Unflappably, then, me dragon continues to lure.
Nonsensically, then, I continue to resist.
Simply because I was hurt beyond imagination.
And my imagination is – goddamnit! – so beyond this ting of yours.
And even you, with your numbers, cannot quite ring me yet.
And yet the tree of us still stand: oh, what a strange thing is this life.
The tree of us still wend: what a good thing is this life.
The tree of us still yearn: how humanity regenerates.
The tree of us still search: how the people will do recreate.
The tree of us still allow: how kindly we can be amongst this daily cruelty.
And me dragon carries on: and so let us – one day – agree to sing together.
And if the song is right, let me share your bed fab – not trite but brave; no close toying but unalloyed joy.
And as the minutes shave to a close, we drink to the health we deserve.
To end our days in peace: oh, what a scene; what a dream …