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…