The Dawn Dragon

The Dawn Dragon


In a mountain hall of rock and stone,
Upon a bed of glittering eyes,
In the golden splendour of his home
The ancient creature lies.

Stirring while the stars still shine
A sleepy head is raised,
Great golden eyes so large and fine
Do open and their realm appraise.

A tail doth twitch and a wing doth shake
And slumber slips away.
As the being from his sleep doth wake,
And gracefully turn to face the coming day.

With perfect grace and brilliant ease
The great serpent slips from his lair.
Wings open wide to the early breeze
The giant tests the air.

With a sharp beat of his wings so broad
And one magnificent bound,
The shimmering beast leaves his hoard
To soar soundlessly above the ground.

One more glance to check all is well
Broad head surveying the air.
His shining wings lift and swell
And broad strokes carry him from his lair.

Up, up and up he goes,
Reaching for the stars fading light
His magnificent appearance he well knows
Is enhanced by his elegant flight.

For vain is he who rules the air,
Clothed in glittering reds and gold
Which make him appear far more the fair
Than the brightest birds or winged creatures of old.

Mountains drop away below,
And blue rivers stretch across the land,
Valleys now where great trees do grow
Tended often by the elven hand.

Over this sea of emerald green
The old dragon doth now fly,
Towards a great mountain which can be seen
Reflected in his immense golden eye.

Now towards this goal he turns,
The great marker of his lands,
A spear of rock around which do churn
Soft clouds in ever swirling bands.

Nearer does his target grow
As day begins to dawn,
The glittering beast now does slow
And the passing of his final night does he mourn.

But such sorrow is brief
As the new day draws ever closer,
And slowly with grace
The Old One does set himself down,

Upon the pinnacle of this peak
Head held high and proud.
He raises his voice to greet
The coming of the new dawn.

Loud and clear his cry is heard,
Announcing the new day,
Throughout the land no-one utters a word
For what is it that one can say?

When the Dawn Dragon doth cry
To greet the coming dawn
His keening wail so soft and mild,
So beautiful yet so forlorn.

His duty done, his quest fulfilled
The dragon rests his weary self,
Tightly, tightly, tightly curled
Safe upon a rocky shelf.

And under the light of the first sun of the year,
He sheds one single shining tear.
His breathing slows, and he softly sighs
As after three hundred years the old dragon finally dies.