Dragon was scaring at One-Two-Three-Four,
when Dragon himself was scared even more
by a sound there was no chance he could ignore.

Was it a rival he’d need to defeat?
No, it was his belly demanding to eat—
not cookies, cakes, candies—not anything sweet.

Dragon stopped scaring. How could he be great?
It’s impossible when you can’t concentrate.
Dragon would scare again after he ate.

Where should he eat? The Dungeon? Chez Scales?
He liked them the same so he played Heads or Tails.
He tossed up some treasure. A toss never fails.

Chez Scales was the winner so off Dragon flew.
He crashed through the roof. “Gimme something to chew!
But don’t give me salad. Don’t give me tofu.”

“Perhaps,” said the waiter, “a three pigs pork chop?”
“Unlikely,” said Dragon. “Pork chops make me flop.”
“A wizard?”
“Allergic.”
“With onions on top?”

“I’m an expert,” said Dragon, “a food connoisseur.
I’m likely to order a dish I prefer.
I choose... ogre omelette.”
“We’re out of that, sir.”

Now Dragon was hungry AND angry. STOMP! STOMP!
The very scared customers hid in the swamp.
They were certain the waiter soon would be...

CHOMP

Before you bemoan the poor waiter’s demise,
before you all sniffle and everyone cries—
take a tissue or two and dry those sad eyes.

The waiter survived—but was too full to bend
since his once-tiny tummy was forced to
e-x-t-e-n-d.
When Dragon attacked, the waiter had to defend...