The Hatchlings

Lifting high her head she greets a new day's morning sun
She cries aloud in vain for the sound of his return.

She lift's her wings of iridecent gold.
Then brings them back again in a gentle sweeping fold.

Emerald tears fall from sea green eyes and roll apon the sandy shore.
As the nesting dragon realizes her mate returns to her no more.

Protectively she hovers keeping an eye, but she must bide her time;
withing the nesting site lay the hatchlings the last of their kind.

Rayn copyright 2002