A dragon lays, scribing something with a quill.
What is it?
A brush, a pencil, sit behind a book.
Discarded for the feel of a quill.
A vial of ink, unscrewed.
Waiting for the quill to drop in,
Soak up the fluids of transfer
From mind to paper.
Half through, the dragon pauses.
A though, perhaps?
Nay, just some gas,
From a mid-day snack.
Almost done, a voice yells.
"You done yet, Joe?"
The dragon sighs.
"Almost mom.
Let me finish these thoughts."
The mother sighs.
Boys will be boys.
The clock chimes 7
Signifying the little one has missed dinner.
Again.
But, the tale he wrote
Will make others wonder
'Who is this Joseph Carter,
Who writes these interesting tales
About dragons and knights
Who live as next door neighbors.'
Little do these humans know,
These tales are all true.
Or Red Baron tells me.
He's Joseph's next-door neighbor.
And a knight, too.
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