On a howling, stormy night, a father fills with dread.
Like spoiled rich nobles, his children stuff themselves with bread.
As they lick up the crumbs, the father sighs,
beckoning to the children under watchful eyes.
â€œOff with you,â€ vies the mother. â€œGo cut us some wood!â€
The children ride off with the father in the cart, shouting â€œWe will be good!â€
Off a ways the father nods and halts the wagon, saying
â€œRest here for a moment, but watch out for the dragon.
I will be back, for game is near.
Hang back as I hunt for turkey and deer.â€
The children agree, and off walks their father
disappearing into the darkness like a cow off to slaughter.
After a time, the children said, â€œLet us depart! We are of age.
After all, surely weâ€™re clever enough to avert the beastâ€™s rage?â€
They took the cart with no remorse, prodding to speed the horse,
and trotted confidently through the forest until coming upon
the River of Kauors.
There they saw a large cottage across the way,
and an old man sitting outside, eating curdles of whey.
â€œGood morrow!â€ he shouted, setting his meal aside.
â€œYou must be hungry, dear children, wonâ€™t you come inside?â€
The gluttons delighted, and inside they went of course.
The old man transformed into a dragon and roared,
â€œYou must excuse the stench, dear children,
for Iâ€™ve just finished cooking your fatherâ€™s corpse.â€