The Dragon and the Gold

Her lips would crease to a wicked grin,

A temper so hot and patience so thin,

Like fire from the morning star ablaze,

Her alluring eyes no man dare to gaze,

A throne at the peak of the molten rock,

With lava to surge and the gold in stock,

Her lair was the furnace, the refiner of faith,

Death was her mate, her jealous spectre, her wraith,

The blood of her opponents would be where her brood would feed,

With bones hoarded like trophies, guarded with an unyielding greed.

No knight could approach her, a position so well kept,

Wisdom was with her, no one who dare venture, left.

She slumbered for decades, her caution laid low,

Where champions who sought her defeat could then go,

With faith as his shield, and his helm kept straight,

His sword at the ready, righteousness being his very breastplate,

His quiver was full of the deadliest arrows,

His flail at his side, a reminder of his enemies sorrows,

He approached the cretins lair, his treasure all but nigh,

With caution he approached, in stealth, his advantage would lie,

The cave was dismal, with decay as its stench,

No way to subdue it, impossible to quench,

His breath was light, short, and quick,

For the beasts ears would prove dangerous should the sound waves stick,

Yet a misstep came and a pebble would stumble,

And her roar was then heard to the sound of near trouble.

Alas, a fool had the ultimate price to be paid,

Yet who, I ask, would could win the game that was continuously played?

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