golden molten rays of sun
slip down between the boughs of green
her dragon sleeps curled at her knee
his wispy smokey snoring plays
a bass line to a melody
heard only in her mind and struck
by urgency she dips her quill and scratches
out a tuney tale as forest folk creep
closer still and curl up in the shady dale
and wait for storyteller time
and as she lays her feather down
begins to read they bob their heads
then dance and weave around her rhymes
and as the ending fades away
they slip into the shadowed gloom
the dragon wakes and winks and blinks
the story ended far to soon
but teller hides her parchment well
a hollow in the hawthorn tree
next to a stream so cool and clear
where dragon, deer, and sparrow drink
and rest, a merry tale to hear