Once there was a dragon, vast and gold and scaly on the mountain. We would sometimes see it flap lugubriously over our village, or hear the leathery whisper of wings above us at night.
In spring, we would see the flashes of flame that signified draconian courtship.
This was strange, as there was only one dragon. No females had ever been seen, and no young. Perhaps he liked to dream.
Once there was a dragon, old and lost and lonely on the mountain. We haven’t seen flames this spring, or heard leathery wingbeats.
Perhaps the age of dragons is past.
Tom Juniper Poetry 