Tales tell of the wretched beast who greedily hid his horde;
the wealth of his father's father lain deep in forgotten caves.
Many traveling bards grew weary of unfinished tales
of who would brave the mountain and the monster who guarded the gate.
He had never slain a dragon nor held a trace of gold,
but fables were born from truth and poor he should be no more.
The climb had left him bloody and scarred, but the cave was in his midst.
In his weary eyes could see a golden gleam of treasure assured.
He entered the fazing darkness on tremulous faith alone
with nothing but his dirty hands and subtly breaking limbs.
No light from within but what shown from without
exposed the truth of the myth for which he would suffer.
A sleeping dragon slumbered upon dust and hollow bones;
glory-seekers decaying into the monster's ghastly nest.
Ensnared in giant scales and thick wings of red veins
was the tint of flushed skin encircled with long yellow hair.
He begged for the golden chests & ornate jewelry sworn,
For the monster's treasure would not prevent a lifetime of despair.
A breaking rib under his heel caused the beast to rouse,
and as the woman's eyes did flutter, she spared a few soft words:
"Please, do not steal me."
He fled from the mountain pass, carried by rushed winds;
running for the sake of his life as if the beast had awoken.
Through heavy breaths and trembling hands
he considered the dragon's choice.;
to find a woman with hair of such an illuminating hue;
to stare into the eyes of endless certainty;
to plunge into darkness and never feel alone.
He knew the monster for the wiser
… and no richer a man or beast could be.