The Dragon

The rippling scorn of the vermillion dragon

Snarls and growls at the distant horizon;

His malicious laugh hot and dry

Surges across the tumbling plain

And barrels into the withered woman.


The woman sat hunched below a parched tree

Through cracked lips, haggard, wheezy breaths escape.

Her dirty cheeks streaked with vaporised tears

All alone she slumps in the swirling dust

The dust, hopeless; and as nondescript as she,

Sweeps away all that is left of her frail existence

As the dragon’s scorn fell under cloudy skies.

The End

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