Dragons Poem by Morgan Michaels

Given their current scarcity
you'll be surprised to learn
how they once crowded the sky
as thickly as swifts at eventide
over modern-day Iraklion

before flapping off to bed
in the Caucasus, or Pyrenees or
the volatile Pacific rim,
seeking there as bats, caves do,
the vent of some still-vocal volcano

to slither down into-
and, there, in its boiling chamber
cuddle, rest and peaceably digest
the careless maiden, seized on the wing,
the extra daughter of some local king

who would be missed but not too much-
together with a brace of troubadours
(or more) - who don't always sing
on demand or key:
for that's how it was in 1323 A.D.

But something happened:
a shrunken habitat?
global cooling?
or did they vanish down some Darwinian well?
Who knows-anyway, their numbers fell

till (you don't know what you've got till it's gone)
only a few remain
today, in Thailand, Myanmar and Laos-
where some dozens can be found
and some in Maylay, down along the sound.

Victims of prejudice? War?
Inquisition? Auto-da-fe?
It's beyond the scope of this poem to say.
I do mean to learn, but, they'd be a bit
difficult to burn, you must admit.