The Singing Dragon
I think a dragon lives at flat number four
sometimes I hear her singing through the door.
I’m sure she sings all through the night,
keeping her voice low, so as not to fright.
Sitting out at the window looking up at the moon,
she lowers her lashes and feels the tune.
Starting down at her tail and rising up from within,
her song takes her over, causing quite a din.
At day break she stops and gets ready for bed,
cleans her many teeth, and tucking in little Ted.
While she sleeps through the day letting her vocal chords rest,
I know for tonight she will be singing her best.
So when the moon rises and your head hits the pillow,
outside the leaves stir and the wind blows the willow.
Listen carefully for the dragon singing her tune,
when you’re all wrapped up, like a cocoon.
That song you hear now could be dad having a snore,
or it could be the singing dragon at flat number four.
for my little people