He breathes little fire strings, fails to
make them strong.
He is a little skinny dragon, his short body seems too long. His fire looks so wrong.

Bullied by strong flaming peers, doppelgangers none.
His fangs look like table knives, his tiny fork-jaw never won. But he found something fun.

He breathes only tiny fires, like a matchstick no so long.
He started whistling tiny fires, dancing smoke started singing along. His fire turned into a singing song.

Whistling dragon flies so low, his whistles keep him high.
Other dragons are traditional, they can only sigh. But they feel his glowing fly.