On Dragons

Greed and gold are pretty words for shadows of ourselves,
Bound twixt dusty covers waiting long on dusty shelves.
Shrieking serpents steal your gems and fall by swords of knights,
And tongues of flame lick pages to make quickly dying lights.
But fire mars your shining coins and melts the marks of kings,
And the wind that blows down kingdoms is stirred up by ancient wings.
We are older than the menfolk and the sins that they decide,
We were born before the avarice that rots them from inside.
We were there when Earth was screaming in her loneliness and pain,
And when no more stars are gleaming, still then shall we remain.

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