there is no river
without the shores,
two hands guiding
no left poet
unless a right,
to believe in
let magic dragons
all the live long day,
sit upon my shoulder
whispering bad jokes,
always showing off,
with whistling fiery
demonstrations,
still there, old man’s
boon companion
didn’t wake to write
this, but Puff nudged
me awake, his heart
so big it lives, loves,
me still, always will,
for the little poem boy
could not dream, now
that history leaves its
handiwork tell tale signs
upon his carriage,
but look closer,
twinkling eyes, yet scheme
and my dragon licks
me wet face, every Morn,
and I tuck him in every Eve
he is my friend, my better half,
and likes this poem very much,
watched me write every word
dragons purr, laugh out loud,
at their own jokes, makes me
happy, because old men die
happy contented knowing that
dragons will always tell jokes
even when a little boy lover
must go
in every grumpy curmudgeonly old man,
lives f o r e v e r a little boy, I am living
almost dying proof…just tell him an old corny he has
heard 1000’s of times, and watch what happens
stand back for that scaly dragon may just yet
spit firer *****
