It was a fire-breathing preacher,
a hard-core and ceaseless teacher,
of lessons they said they wanted none.
Yet, it belched them out by the ton.
Spitting fire and dreadful lies
from the freedom of the skies.
And all about, its fires burned.
And people wailed like lovers spurned.
And then one day there came sage.
He found some sad, some in a rage.
“What troubles you folk,” he inquires.
“From far above, it slings these fires!
Can you save us, you wise old man,
from life in this blasted frying pan?”
“Every fire requires a fuel,
And every lie, a willing fool.
Do you feed the beast, or in its fires bask?”
“Neither, of course, and how dare you ask!”
“I can douse the flames, but they’ll flare right back,
if you fuel them with your petty, piddling yak.”
“Just do it, old man, before we all burn!”
“OK, I’ll give you this one chance to learn.”
So, pulling a hose, off the sage marched.
“Mighty dragon, you must be terribly parched?”
“You know, breathing fire IS a thirsty job.”
At a nod, minions spun the spigot knob.
The water caught the grateful dragon in the throat.
Steam rose, ash spewed, and that’s all she wrote.
With no fire to breath, the dragon flew off,
sputtering out its last ashen cough.
The town was saved, or so it appeared.
But it was as the sage had feared.
Soon, some dabbled in volatile mixtures–
at weakest moments, becoming fixtures.
And the fools? Oh, they missed the glow
of the dragon’s garish and tawdry show.
And soon enough, conditions were right
for the dragon’s fire to again alight.