In the end of the matter, everyone needs a little joy in their life.
Your wings arouse the aural air
when waving ‘cross the vale,
and trees like feathers – plumage tall –
do tingle in the gale
your belly in the sunset light.
Who are you, dragon’s child,
that you should glory in the wind
as if you were not wild?
I see your wings, I know your flight,
I see within your eyes
the passion of it all – the spell –
you dance it in the skies
like magic, in a whorl of flame.
Who are you, dragon’s child,
that you should know emotion’s name
as if you were not wild?
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