To remember the days of dragons

If you were to remember

The birth of dragons

And the times you played among them,

Hearing their feet splashing in the puddles,

Remembering their eyes of fiery emeralds—

If you were to remember,

Then you could run, calling after them,

You could call them and

They would return,

Trailing magic in their silver wings.

Then it could happen that

On the afternoon of a strange Sunday

They could unwind

The obtuse windings

Of the world of men,

Bound up in iron snares,

Releasing fire spirits, air fairies, wise feather-footed owls,

And the innocents entombed for millennia

Into an age of joy,

Where winged bees sing to the flower,

Toadstools dream by the melodious shore,

And the peace of eternal power

Settles over the primeval forest

Green in the darkness of the stars.

***

Written July 15, 2012

© Copyright, Sharon St Joan