The Dragons Creed

A poem about a small dragon.

The weathered paper rustled from the book,
Eyes gleaming whilst his talons turned the page,
Whisking through the tales of dragon lore
The dragon learnt the secrets of the sage.

A fledgling to our eyes this dragon was,
Still young in years yet wisdom felt eternal.
With knowledge of the power in his mind
His intellect an incarnate inferno.

The sage was but an axis for his might
For all his craft he had no strength to fly,
No fire had escaped his scaly jaws
His magic showing no will to comply.

He longed to see the wonders of the world,
While soaring soundless through tall mountain peaks.
To hunt amongst the trees in bitter nights,
Blending with the light his scales so sleek.

Until that day the dragon looked and dreamed.
The weathered paper still he flipped and gleamed,
For all the bore of reading day and day
In time he’d grow and grasp the dragon's creed.