Dragons

 

In early years when I was but a child,
The legion of the dragons was a myth.
Of fi’res from the furnace of their breath,
The stirring from the windings of their wings.

Once magic was the summit of a range
From where a lizard king did spill a verse,
And filled the San Fernando with his song
About a wing’ed wizard’s spirit curse.

But now I’m off the coast of Cali south,
The fierce Santana winds are hot and dry.
As fi’res that I see rage through the brush
While every creature races to the beach.

Is this the work of dragons hithermost
By which a hoary master summons forth.
Are not the ancient ones all died away,
Their fading memories a simple ghost.