This poem is about a dragon who you can meet in my next book, yet to be published. Crisalisk and her mate Monarlisk are separated by Monarlisk losing a fight to another male dragon for the attentions of Crisalisk, but this poem refers to a time before that.
Her scales are the red
Of sunset in Autumn,
Her eyes are the gold
Of midsummer sun,
Her horns are as white
As snowfall in winter
And she dances on high
Like the birds do in spring.
Her beauty is evident
To all who do see her.
Her grace in the sky
Is a joy to behold.
With pinions spread wide
She dives then she soars
But beware, if she sees you,
Her flames she'll release.
She thinks she's the queen
Of all that surround her.
All other things living
Are there just to serve.
If any refuse her
She roars out her challenge
As Death on wide wings
Dives down from the skies.
But who is it comes
On black wings high soaring?
'Tis Monalisk who
Is her mate and her love.
For him she will bow down
Her arrogance dwindling
For he is her only
True love in the land.
This is a poem that has no rhymes. Poetry does not need to rhyme, but it has to have either rhyme or rhythm or it's just prose broken into lines.
Poetry nowadays seems to be that way, I've read many so-called poems that have neither rhyme nor rhythm. One had short lines, then suddenly a long line that took up 2 lines of text. Some of the poems I've read are incomprehesible too. I may be old fashioned in my ideas, but those things aren't poetry!
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