In last evening’s sweven, I did escry a dragon dancing in a field of reeds and daffodils.
Townsfolk, summoned by flyers upon brattices and poles, prepared to pitch their forks.
They suggest keeping pen and pad close for recording such scenes, but hewing to tips is, oh, so green.
Hence, in spite of being labelled haggis-headed, I crayon my dreams—for bright and sharp connect idea-beams. ; )