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What would you do if you found the last of a dying species?
Poetry
Fantasy
I buried it in the shallow reeds,
Always wary of the wyverns overhead;
My cloak did not billow in the breeze,
For it was tightly wrapped about me
For protection, to shield my doings
From those prying eyes.
The waters glimmered with the light
Of moon-fall in the growing dusk;
I cradled in my arms a glowing stone,
Knowing well what would hatch
From within its thin white shell,
What little eyes and paws
Would reach out from the reeds
To hug my bending form,
Confusing me for some adult dragon,
My cape my wings, my hands my claws,
My concern like any mother’s,
Yet knowing well there was no adult dragon,
No fiery breath to warm the waiting egg,
No vast wings to shield it from the world,
For I was kneeling now on the muddied soil
To hide away the last of its kind.
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