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etching by Gwen Myer
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Her jewelled eyes have grown dim, sightless,
Shadowed over by her wearying loss of hope.
Broad wings that were meant to soar, are heavy,
Unable to break free of gravity’s bond and chains.
She is caught, earthbound, and helpless now,
Within a deadly trap of her own soul’s making.
The shimmer of her armour, bright scaled defence,
Is grown ashen, and weakened from her sorrowful heart.
Her joyous song and call have become stilled, quiet,
Only whispered, broken cries of loneliness are her voice.
No trumpets clarion does she wish to sing out in this now,
Trumpets do not capture what feeling her heart knows.
The brightest tears of the mourning she-dragon,
Fall slowly, one by one, to shatter aloud;
Broken on the rocky floor of her grief, endless
Fragments reflecting what she has ne’er known.
Plink and crash, crystal shards scattered wide.
The long, graceful tail drags wearily, and low,
No longer steering her, in her misplaced art of flight.
She is curled in her cave, where gold, jewels are naught;
The greatest riches, love, are denied her always.
The warm sands she gathered for her dragonlings.
Lie flat, ever cold and empty, smooth, and inert.
Despite her deepest, most sweetly held dreams,
Defying her endless quest through the world.
Still no mate to fly her, and give a promise.
She’ll not know of twining neck, and wrapping wings.
She hears no other slumbering dragon’s breath.
Her lonely nest is forever more silent and empty.
The brightest tears of the mourning she-dragon,
Fall slowly, one by one, to shatter aloud;
Broken on the rocky floor of her grief, endless
Fragments reflecting what she has ne’er known.
Plink and crash, crystal shards scattered wide.
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