[Light Sonnets]
Sloshed on Spenser, Don Fragyle nightly jousts
with snorting, scaly dragons, wreathed with fumes:
nimbly dodging the Bunsen-burner jets
he laughs to scorn the champion-crisping flames
and liberates a royal, chesty girl
held tearful hostage in a gothic keep
by a hunch-backed, ogling, knot-faced churl.
Maids-in-distress ennoble Don Fragyle's sleep.
A dragon's shriek leaps out from the alarm
near a plastic newt on a bonsai tray,
summons him to tilt against daily harm
and triumph over the hazards of day:
a thermos leak, the new-girl's crooked grin,
stepping in gum, rubber cabbage, bar gin.
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I would like to translate this poem
Irony, parody works well in sonnet form.