“I specialise in madness.” He said,
leaning back and forth in the rocking-chair,
proudly puffing from his large cigar
who’s smoke whipped through the air
like the tail of a ghostly dragon.
And can we deny him?
Nay! For it is he that rocks
n’ rolls the ghostly billows from his toothy lair,
and talks of madness.
“But I,” said I,
“I can engage in madness too!”
He frowned awhile, then turned to face me,
blew a mighty plume towards me.
And I watched as the wafting dragon breathed a fiery kiss
and I burned, burned, burned
in the madness of its love.


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