
The dragon sleeps at set of sun
Its silhouette outstretched
Against the moorland ridge
Burnt orange, smoked and flecked
In fiery glow
This dragon’s breath
That stills the evening
Enchants the air
No sword be drawn
But rest.
Running in the slow lane

The dragon sleeps at set of sun
Its silhouette outstretched
Against the moorland ridge
Burnt orange, smoked and flecked
In fiery glow
This dragon’s breath
That stills the evening
Enchants the air
No sword be drawn
But rest.
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