By brian francis
The cold and the dark refuse the flicker
of gems who lie so deep in the ground.
Bones lay scattered among the trophy
the lost, the magic reach, out to be found.
With less of a slide and more of a slither,
Of silver and gold, the dreams the drive
The piles discovered beneath the great mountain
In heaps and mounds the treasure resides
A whiff of sulfur drifts in the darkness
A glow almost seen through the cover of gold
Rumbles subsonic reach in and touch you
stories of dragons not believed when told
The burden too much to carry escaping
Dribbles and drops dancing away
Better to flee and lose all the bounty
But greed alas has a loathsome way
The bones will be scattered among the piles
As Draco reclines and cleans off the flesh
Casting them about for the next warning
And settling again to gather his rest
Copyright © 2021 brian francis
Wordsmith: At The Forge 