In dragon's hoard,
'Neath dragon's gaze,
Appears a man in red.
Without a sword
In freezing haze
He speaks where most feel dread.

"Your breath is chill,
Mistress of scale,
Who sits on icy throne.
And unmatched skill
Sends shards of hail
Clean through both flesh and bone.

Your armored hide
Deflects all blows
And shines crystalline blue.
A source of pride
That awes your foes,
Bewitched by azure hue.

I'd gladly die
'Neath lovely claw,
If that is what's in store.
For to my eye
There's not a flaw
In what I see before.

But let me go,
Maiden of ice,
Back to my humble town.
I'm sure you know
A mere snack's price
Can bring you much renown."

The wurm was charmed
And as he spoke
The man pocketed gold.
To his alarm
The stillness broke.
The last he felt was cold.