There once was a jolly old dragon
who would daily partake from his flagon.
Since the flagon was round
he was tipsily bound
first to trip then to fall off the wagon.
There he was, soaked with rain in the gutter,
and the folks heard him sputter and mutter,
though his liver was fat
and he wore a straw hat
he had not yet decided to stutter.
For the dragon was waiting at home
a small dragon he'd married in Rome.
She was armed with a spear
and a bottle of beer,
but she lacked number four chromosome.