Hi, Mr Dix!
Here is the poem you wanted me to type to you:
Under a cliff, in a cave,
Was a beast whose weapon was flame.
There was a carpenter, making ribbons and bows,
And there was a blacksmith, with swollen toes.
The dragon was sleeping, guarding his loot,
25,000 emeralds and gold, all stacked up together and covered in mould.
Carpenter and blacksmith, blacksmith and carpenter,
All ready to fight the fire Master.
The dragon sensed their presence and clawed at the rocks,
And his blood-red scales were like hard chicken pox.
The beast was right, the travellers were near,
They climbed on, until they felt great fear.
The dragon hid in a tunnel, blacker than black,
For when the travellers walk past, he will attack.
On their journey they rode by trolley,
They rode to the cave wearing clam shells as a pack on their back…
William: carmpenter and blacksmith
Louis: the dragon