Possibly a poem for Eastercon
The dragon's head is hung with shards of ice
where it awoke and found the world grown cold.
The ship trapped in the Rings is decades old.
Its crew decided with a set of dice
Made from the fingers of the first to die
who should be eaten next. The last one froze.
The last remaining flower was a rose
whose briars ate the world. And you and I
Are struck with wonder whether it's a book
or film or drawing. Pity, terror too.
Yet what if what's imagined were all true
They'd stare back, all amazement in their look.
Mutants and monsters, silvered cyborg ships
They'd watch in awe the soft curve of your lips.