I watched her from my hiding place,
crouched amid lush ferns and rich organic rot.
Amidst the pungent musk of mushrooms
when upon her visage a certain look I caught.
As the breeze shifted my lungs were filled
with the licorice sweetness of Queen Anne’s lace.
In amazement I saw sorrow transforming
her ferocious wyvern face.
Her succinic golden, glowing orbs
oozed acidic, streaming, gleaming tears.
I marveled at this weeping beast
long immortalized by myth and fear!
I thought dragons knew only fierceness.
Softer emotions it was rumored they could never feel.
T‘was said their hearts were forged in hell
fashioned from the Devil's hardest steel.
Wriggling closer through the Canary Reeds,
I belly-crawled through ticklish Yorkshire Fog.
Stealthily creeping ever closer through
blue-tinged Quaking Grass bordering the bog.
Twas then I heard a low mournful keening,
madeira eyes flooding like poisoned rain.
Alas (I thought to myself), this poor creature
weeps in vain! For her tiny one lay broken,
Green scales scattered where it lay tossed.
Still and lifeless, limbs akimbo upon
the dampened Marsh Hair Moss.
What slew the fruit of scaly loins
transforming iridescence to a
forsaken greenish grey?
Though once I despised her ilk
I now watched her suffering in dismay ...
(my own heart breaking in sympathetic pain).
Then from above, in twilight skies
came a rush of mighty wings.
Her mate arrived with flashing eyes and
together they began to sing
Nose to nose they sang
a strange and moving song.
Tears falling upon their lifeless babe
... their misery was one.
Then with the power from which
only miracles are made
the tiny dragon began to stir,
dragon tears and love created
a miraculous and wondrous cure!
Those creatures I once so despised
were transformed before my faery eyes.
Insight I found is often blind
When fear and ignorance
become entwined.