by Nick Gisburne
I want to be a dragon, so I will,
But no one wants to tell me what to do.
I couldn’t find a potion or a pill.
The secret is concealed. The clues are few.
The dragons I approach are cold. They sniff,
And say it should be obvious, but no.
The gilded runes are garbled. Every glyph
Was stripped of all its power, long ago.
It’s hard to be a dragon when you’re not.
It seems to be a closed, exclusive club.
I try. I give it everything I’ve got,
But always they are quick to sneer, to snub.
Abandoning my dream for second best,
I’m sitting for the pterodactyl test.
