THERE BE DRAGONS
Beneath the Iceland ice cap
Sleeping dragons lie
Dreaming of the day when
They once again will fly.
And while their dreams are pleasant
They lie in restful ease,
But in a fiery nightmare
Their hot breath starts to wheeze.
So in the month of April
Of the year two thousand ten
Eyjafjallajokull
Awakened once again.
The melting ice above him
Flooded the coastal streams
And added to the outburst
Their blinding, boiling streams.
The earth shook with his movements
As he rose to his knees
And lava flowed like red blood
In rhythm with his keens.
Until he launched a geyser
With his desperate dragon roar:
A tower of tephra boulders
That tumbled toward the shore.
As his fire at last abated,
He sank down in despair
With just some final hiccups
Of blue haze in the air.
But his neighbor Holuhraum
Has now begun to stir
So Icelanders are watchful
For new tremors in their earth.
And they keep the ancient adage
In the forefront of their minds:
Do not disturb the universe,
Let sleeping dragons lie.
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