(from a druid creative card)
They tied me to a pile, petrified, my chest is heaving;
Told me I'm a sacrifice for a dragon, fire-breathing.
I would be bar-b-qued, no chance for survival;
Counting down the seconds to Air Dragon's arrival.
The villagers chanted, cut themselves and danced;
The king came off this throne, the harem pranced.
I, a stranger to this city, somehow felt to blame;
Unanimously decided I was the reason for no rain.
I was on a hill above the crowd, more or less a mound;
Can't differentiate between the drum or my heart's pound.
Then I saw him from a far, the Dragon of the Air;
Cried out to God and wailed in my despair.
He, a stately creature, swooped down and with one breath
Of fire from his nostrils sent all the villagers to death.
Then turned and looked at me, like I was set apart ration;
Smoke left his nose and his eyes full of compassion;
He carefully used his sharp tail to break me free;
Then on his back carried me softly to my destiny.
Oh Dragon of the Air, composed of fire and zeal;
I don't even know today if that experience was real.