To Light A City

Above the sound of Bleat blushing bells,

and turning whizz at walking point to the

beastly dells.

A daily ride on metal melding dragons

arching backs, who huff and humph

lying restfully by lemon grass lilacs.

Drinking a gulp of hush brew, the riders

greet their mounts with a fretting snort

of manners due.

Seated upon their frames sleek, a rumble

rising from their throats as though to

speak.

Fire writhing from their silver tongues,

in a chuff of flame slow to tame.

Riding over forest snicks in guardianship,

of day time stars and through whack

winds that whip.

Down into ratatat volcanoes for the

daily foil, to harvest wham-wick light

made from lava oil.