Air is torn by zaps of blinkfull swishes,
A shimmering spark hounds around flowing waters.
From those depths it has once risen,
But windy skies are its home now chosen.
Dome-like facets of watchful eyes,
On guard, on look, soaring in cold heavens,
Grasping paws, — each ending in hooks,
Feverish hunger that even beasts spooks...
Once there were times when that dragon was true,
Not a small spark between lashes of rue,
Over a young land just born from an ocean waves' cradle,
Its wings were swung over bogs deep and stale...
