Fossil

Deep in the blossom‑bright woods
where moon light drips under flower hoods
lived a lime soft dragon
who bellowed like a cannon.

His besties ladybug and butterfly
would hover close when he would cry
soothing his trembling smoky snout
until his worries fluttered out.

But this day his grumbles swelled
like a moody mist the forest held.
He stomped hard on the branches,
sending leaves in wild trances.

He bundled up his lump of scales
feigning sleep to mama dragon’s wails.
Marshes cradling his footprints
offered her the guiding hint.

“My little flame,” she whispered low,
'your pout is melting the evening snow'
"Your wish to watch Game of Thrones
shook me right down to my bones".

He huffed, “I am not an old oak, I know
but not exactly a yolk, so don't say so
You either give me permit
or I stay here as a hermit".

And legend has it, whispered still,
He lives there as a fossil.