It so happened that in the
lands of Karma’naym
there lived Esmjelda, who was a dragon dame,
a lady so fair, so majestic, graceful and charming,
aye, a rare winged beauty: enthralling, disarming.
For a vile, dastardly beast she verily was not,
nay, nay, the dragoness did not fit that bill;
a peculiar spell of enchantment she wrought,
and knights skipped her when testing their skill.
“Esmjelda,” they said, “sure is one of her own,
and such elegance better be left all alone.”
So alluring she was that many admired her:
a fluffy mane she had, a calming purr,
sparkling, shimmering scales, green and gold
– a wondrous creature, such a sight to behold!
Thus from all kinds of dragons she was wooed,
there were drakes, wyrms, wyverns, lizards,
who were giant, mighty, fiery, utterly lewd
– in their midst the odd shapeshifting wizard!
Some rather amiable, others pushy, shrewd,
alas, the eligible dame proved sort of a prude.
Image description. The raccoon
to his beloved dragoness.
And finally there was just that
who confessed to Lady Esmjelda: “I thee adore!”
Without a doubt he was a full-blown goon,
that preposterous lovesick – uhm... – raccoon!
The grand dragoness certainly did all but ignore
the little fellow. Well, at least he wasn’t yellow!
She thought: He looks just like a breakfast snack,
so "Thanks, but no critters for me", she swore,
and ladylike, with regret, she sent him back.
"Dracoids only please, bother me no more!"
But the little raccoon, he was persistent,
against blatant rejections surely resistant.
“What is it that thee seeketh, oh comely maiden?
Aye, with passion mine own heart is laden,
so won’t thee hark to a lonesome thing as me?
Akin souls needeth to find themselves! Agreed?”
Thus spoke he, for the raccoon was a poet too!
“You talk straight as well?” the dame inquired.
“Aye,” the raccoon answered her. “Indeed I do.
But know: It was you who got me all inspired.”
Thus continue did the unlikely furry suitor,
beseeching his beloved to forge a future
in a union of sly coon and lovely dragon dame
– should anyone turn up their nose, all the same!
The coon brought flowers, berries and cherries,
heart-shaped roots, artworks he made of wood,
and declared that he of course was set to marry,
to stay together for good – now, if she only would!
Other beasts though warned: “What’s the intrigue?
Can’t you see the lass is way out of your league?”
Sure enough, she found him cute – and astute!
Now, she loved his attention and even the fruit,
but she clearly was meant for someone else!
Someone with scales, wings and way less pelt…
"My little friend… It’s thrill and adventure I seek!
Strong, horned beasts with magnificent tails,
fiery companions, those that havoc wreak,
mighty monsters of lore, rough riders of gales!"
the delightful Esmjelda made clear with a sneer.
A fact that bit our little raccoon in the rear!
"Little one, I was born to conquer the skies!
So I long for someone with whom I can fly,
and soar up, up and shoot off and away,
there – in the clouds! – I want to live my day!"
To which the raccoon remarked: "So?
The sky is one, the other is the earth,
perfectly suited for adventure and mirth.
My dear, they go together, you must know,
if you're just flying away, around and about,
on what’s down below you’re missing out!"
So the two finally sat together for a talk,
turning heads of deer, sheep and hawk.
The whole night the dragoness jabbered on,
for she liked to jabber from dusk till dawn:
how she would live in a castle high in the air,
how she’d make it into the most comfy lair
but that only a full-grown of her own kind
could support, protect, complete herself,
and would understand her exquisite mind
– which was no job for critter, man or elf.
The coon listened – he so savored her tender voice! –,
but then boldly declared: "My Lady, make a choice!
For you're dreaming up so many things as you go along,
and the more you sing, the more you believe in your song.
See, I'm smitten with you, and I do love your wings,
alas, I'm well aware, they're not meant for a flight…
Admit it, thine are tiny, fragile, quite useless things,
however you'll try, you won't gain much height!"
Esmjelda kept quiet. She knew it all so well,
though proud as she was, felt reluctant to tell.
“No need to lie, dear one, or to pretend,”
the raccoon said. “To twist what you are
is not how to find yourself a friend!
You’re the prettiest in the lands by far,
so it escapes me towards what end
you might relate to me such tall a tale
that you’ll once soar to ride the gale...
You’re a dreamer, Esmjelda, just like me.
You weave your own poetry, can’t you see?”
So she said: “You're right, I do have quirks,
and neither I'm perfect, faultless or pure.
But see, never ever would our union work!"
Vowed the raccoon: "Let me just assure
I'm here still, with you I’m not through:
What one lacks can be made up by the other,
though I'm not a drake like Mynx or his brother.
If both our hearts do agree, very well can it be,
that as one we're better off than just on our own.
Come, let us fearlessly embrace the unknown!"
The Lady Esmjelda, she heartily laughed at him.
Though then she went along, maybe on a whim,
on a journey to the famous hot Ilyan springs
complete with waterfall, fancy bubbles and all.
She even let the raccoon rub her sore wings,
and surprisingly, aye, they had quite a ball!
Later on they sat down to watch the moon,
the huge fair dragoness and our tiny raccoon,
and off the top of his head he recited her rhymes
– all poems of his, and romance made up the lines.
And from there it went on, that odd liaison...
While the Lady clearly was not meant to fly,
a few flaps she could muster, with him on the back.
What she once had considered a breakfast snack,
she now helped a tad closer towards the skies.
Our raccoon might have lacked a dragonic brawn,
yet he had the wits! "Nor have I claws, just paws,
but if the lair needs change, it can be arranged!”
And thus, in mutual fascination they lived on.
Believe you me that they were merry – very!
Often now they were together and heard
the sweet singing of the spring's early birds
or they cuddled in the cave, watching the rain,
or just gazed at the stars for hours and hours,
and when the Lady lay sick, struggling in pain,
the coon brought chicken soup and more flowers.
True, they had some trouble with their first kiss
– the dragoness' head giant, the raccoon so small –
so that's why the first try came close to a miss,
but after more attempts they managed it all.
And thus passed a long summer, and even in fall
they still proved to be wholly fond of each other,
that Esmjelda even considered being a mother!
So it came that she asked the love of her life:
"Will I ever have young drakelets of mine?"
"Whoa, slow down, one problem at the time!"
said the raccoon, but then made her his wife.
For "Yes," she said, right there on the spot.
And so the story goes, believe it or not.
Everyone said: "That spells nothing but disaster!"
Fiddlesticks! For raccoon and dragoness lived
– guess what? – aye, indeed: happily ever after!