They come one by one, 

ruby throats glowing like fire 

in a dragon’s belly. 

 

They fight for the sugary stuff, 

beaks stabbing into columbine 

like teeth seeking meat. 

 

They hover in the garden, 

thrumming wings beating a rhythm, 

fanning the drooping fuchsia. 

 

Chirping and hovering, 

these dragonets drink and dart, 

slurping up sweet nectar. 

 

They leave as a group, 

Waiting for the next day 

To hunt their prey. 

​