Child of fire, fated for so much more,

In your fury dwelt such innocence;

With grandeur and magnificence adorned,

Your lonely soul shrouded by brilliance.

How could a creature of magic fall so?

Your precious blood spilt on earthy ground;

With wings as limp as a dragonfly's now,

Gilded scales pierced by a lesser compound.

No more fire resides inside your breath,

Abandoned mines in place of blazing lungs,

George is no saint, for he did cause this death,

the fiend: forever halting dragon songs.

Though they say the Age of Dragons has passed,

The world is great, and the sky is vast…