Enormous grey clouds feasted on sunbeams;
soft veils of mist further paling the light.
As I roamed 'cross the lush green outlands of Galway,
a skulking presence was sensed to my right.
Throughout my young life I’d heard many legends;
dragon tales embellished with time and stout ale.
Those who believed would beg I not wander,
lest I suffer the wrath the fates might assail.

Cold prickling gooseflesh, creeping in ripples,
stabbed at my flesh till I trembled with fear.
I knew beyond doubt, to the depths of my soul,
a dragon had spied me and lurked ever near.
I whispered an old Irish prayer to myself,
unable to move, but so wanting to flee.
When finally the beast did make itself known,
'twas a wee baby dragon stood staring at me!

We lingered in silence, awkward, unsettled,
though time had stood still and left us to dream.
I studied those soul piercing amber eyes,
and its shimmering scales of emerald green.
I feared for my life, yet no parent protested.
I felt a great sadness as deep as the sea.
I had on my hands a young orphaned dragon,
a beast who had taken a liking to me.

The Irish name "Lorcan" was seemly and ample
thus, bestowed on the dragon that curious day.
Time brought with it unavoidable change,
and the need for caution each step of the way.
How was a mortal entrusted this secret?
Not that I harbored an ounce of regret.
It's not everyday common folk meet with legends;
all my life long, I would never forget.

Lorcan hid well in his cave during day's light.
When all were asleep, he would soar through the sky.
He hunted and drank from the land and the loughs,
and sometimes I heard his low mournful cry.
This tale ends not with disheartening sorrow.
For you see, I did find in the sly Lorcan's lair,
not only the dame he had won in his travels,
but another wee dragon claimed residence there!