When I set out on my
career, my mother said to me,
To be a dragons not at all the delight youve supposed.
There is responsibility from which you simply cant be free
And many obligations which convention has imposed.
You might fancy works
of art specialty quaint,
You might well have a delicate constitution,
The disposition of a saint, perhaps a propensity to faint,
Or you might wish to plot a social revolution.
From every such enjoyment
you will find yourself denied,
In simple, rustic pleasure
you cannot participate,
You have a task to the state, your natural wish to congregate
With ordinary people must be decisively put aside.
When you are encouraged
to take your ease with a small libation,
Or pack a picnic lunch with friends and take it for a walk,
You must take your status into your consideration.
Give thought to how the scandal loving citizens would talk.
With culinary preferences,
employ the maximum care.
You must deny your natural taste for jam and buttered scones.
Rather boil a maiden fair. Ignore her parents tearful prayer.
Develop a preference for the taste of human bones.
Your all-important duties
as a monster arent light.
Though the piling up of treasure my not be your central pleasure,
Youve obligations to the spread of plague and blight.
Dutys road is hard my son, and yet it must be followed.
Cities must be burned
and wasted during business hours.
Caves for treasure must be hollowed; knights in armor must be swallowed
A dragon kills and then he indiscriminately devours.
Mind the manners mother taught when you are laying waste.
Keep a obsequious air
when blotting out the sun.
Avoiding all unseemly haste when leaving cities in a paste,
And men will say, when you are dead, his duty is done
© 2004 Jeffrey L. Williams
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