There was a little treasure
who did not want to be.
It really was his pleasure
to be just fantasy.
A dragon in ancient
Chinese mythology
he was, a made defiant
of sensibility.
One day he started weeping.
He could not stand the fears.
But people him in keeping
just called it dragon tears.
And so he started moaning.
To do he could not choose.
But people called it groaning
and would not let him loose.
The dragon, then, yelled loudly.
Now he was really soar.
But people said he proudly
showed what he had in store.
He really suffered insult,
the dragon, by the daft.
And when he made a tumult,
the people said he laughed.
But there were children seeing.
The child to him was friend.
The children will be freeing.
And that will be the end.
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