I’m a well liked treat, small and sweet. In sun I grow, I hang down low. I’m dipped in chocolate, or baked in pies, or eaten fresh before your eyes. I masquerade as something I’m not, I’m mostly covered in tiny brown dots.

Dragons soar and kingdoms soar, In epics of ink and imagination. Where spells are cast, and goblin fell fast, With a bow, staff, or steel. What might you see, where endless stories there be, Forever to be enjoyed in the future?

An island of survival But not one of land Where all animals go Amidst scorched sands

Created but temporary, gone in a whim When warmth comes back my fate is grim What's left is a carrot, few pieces of coal Bringing children happines is my life's goal

Atop my throne, I command all else. I'm hundred of years old, yet I have never died. My servants are demons, yet they are my idea of pure. People call me a bird, a disgrace to my name. If you want me dead you shall own the entire word's shame.