In a cave beneath the old cobblestones
Of the streets of the City of London, there lies
A dragon, British as Elizabeth’s bones,
With an ancient lust in its green eyes.
Curling its tail round Caracas’s bullion,
It’s reminded of family in sunny Iberia.
On its ashy maw rests a thoughtful talon:
It dreams of the New World’s cornucopia.
From there its winged cousins took nitrates, tin,
Silver, gold, nickel, hardwood trees,
Cacao, coffee, aluminum, cotton,
Oil, rubber and manganese.
Yet the dragons covet more loot for the lair,
Stealing and hoarding till the world’s left bare.