By Jack Prelutsky
Tonight is the night all the dragons
Awake in their lairs underground,
To sing in cacophonous chorus
And fill the whole world with their sound.
They sing of the days of their glory,
They sing of their exploits of old,
Of maidens and Knights, and of fiery fights,
And guarding vast caches gold.
Some of their voices are treble,
And some of their voices are deep,
But all of their voices are thunderous,
And no one can get any sleep.
I lie in my bed and I listen,
Enchanted and filled with delight,
To songs I can hear only one night a year–
The dragons are singing tonight.
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Sunday was beautiful and cool. We baked bread, I did a bunch of scanning, then we met my mother in the parking lot at Locust Grove for a socially distanced walk in the woods. I chatted with fannish friends when we got home, then we had stuffed ravioli for dinner.
We caught up in the evening on Burden of Truth and saw the new episode of Snowpiercer after the Memorial Day concert on PBS, which we watched mostly because the latter was delayed by the Tiger Woods charity golf match. From a trip to Disney World in 1975, before Epcot:
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