Dragons of Autumn

When summer’s leaves are falling,
and dragons are old and worn.
The lulling voices of autumn are calling,
dragons from the misty early morn.
To circle over forests of red and gold,
and a sea of fallen leaves so old.
They wander ancient woods of yore,
where none but legends hath tread before.
A song they sing to morn the passing of each year,
a melancholy tune enchanting all who hear.
Slowly the hourglass doth empty,
as the ancient hands of time wind down.
Ever watchful guardians they watch the seasons change,
for the silvery frost touch where only dragons range.
As the chilling snow of winter blankets the land,
the dragons of autumn disappear and with them their song disband.