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‘Twas the Night Before Christmas – with dragons

‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the keep,

Not a dragon was stirring nor making a peep;

Their talons were sharpened and polished with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

The hatchlings were tucked all snug in their nests;

While visions of raw meat brought warmth to their chests;

And ma with a femur, and I with a skull,

Had just settled down with bellies too full.

When out on the turret there arose such a bluster

I sprang from my hoard with no patience to muster.

Away to the tower I raced, filled with ire,

I let out a roar and lit the sky with my fire.

The blaze of my flame mixed with new-fallen snow

Filled the night sky with steam, masking objects below.

When, what to my perceptive ears should I hear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.

With a jolly old driver, so fatty and thick,

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

Faster than fairies his creatures they flew,

The meat on their bones worth a feast, maybe two.

“Come Siren! Come Hydra! Come Gorgon and Satyr!”

I called to my hatchlings; their naps could come later.

“To the top of the turret, to the roof made of stone!

Come eat every beast, pick clean every bone!”

Snuffles and roars came from deep in my lair,

as unsteady wings beat through the night air.

They rounded the bend and coughed out some sparks,

Then my sweet little hatchlings caught sight of their marks.

One by one, to my shock, they halted their flight,

the runt letting out a squeal of delight.

“Oh, Daddy, it’s him!” she shouted with glee.

“He’s brought us all presents. He’s brought one for me!”

As if he had heard her the strange man called out,

“Ho, ho, ho, dragon friend, let me clear up your doubt.”

And the reindeer all landed, along with the sled,

Which was full of bright boxes that filled me with dread.

Despite all my protests, the hatchlings followed St. Nick

Not to mangle or bite, but to get their first pick.

Smoke trailed from my nostrils as I held back my flame

My hatchlings were soft, and this man was to blame.

I knew in that moment what they needed to learn:

Dragons are feared; they breathe fire, they burn.

Just as I readied my breath to take the man’s life

He turned with a gift – a diamond-studded knife.

I choked on my smoke and examined his offer.

Indeed, its beauty was fit for my coffers.

So I let the man live with his strange flying deer

In the hopes that he might come again the next year.

The hatchlings all watched as he packed up his sleigh,

Their eyes full of wonder as St. Nick flew away

And I heard him exclaim as he drove out of sight,

“Happy Christmas to all, even dragons this night.”

Until next time,

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