I was in the bath reading a book about the 1960 Olympics in Rome, but started thinking about dragons.

You don’t see dragons any more,

In deserts or on jungle floors,

In fact, I’m sure you never did,

While humans roamed the dragons hid.

And yet, you’d know one were it there,

They look the same most everywhere,

Green of skin and hard of scale,

A whip of triangle on its tail,

Truly scary, it transpires,

And that’s before the breathing fire,

The fact the pictures look the same,

And that the beasts do not remain,

Suggests to me one honest truth,

A theory of which I have no proof.

You don’t see dragons any more,

They’re legendary dinosaurs.

I was thinking of the mythical creatures like the kraken, and the fact that they were based on things that might have been present but we’re so horrible and so unfamiliar that they took on another more terrible identity (a bit like the Gruffalo) and it strikes me that dragons are a bit the same. Maybe a cave painting was exaggerated, maybe tales became taller.