He is made of fire.
But when I am cold he cuddles with me
Like a hot water bottle.
His wings are penetrating red,
Made out of sunrise.
His tail can catch people by the neck.
In his eyes there are flames that bombard out.
His breath is lava,
He eats volcano rocks,
His breath is sizzling flame.
Don’t touch my dragon.
I really like your poem Rozenn! I can really see what your Dragon is doing!
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