“Blue dragons in the mist”

High on the cliffs where the morning is young,  
Mist curls and weaves where old stories are sung,  
There glide the blue dragons, with eyes like the sea,  
Their scales whisper secrets of what’s yet to be.  

The soft light of dawn paints their wings in a blur,  
Cobalt and sapphire begin to demur,  
They flicker through cloudbanks with dragon’s delight,  
Silent as moonbeams dispersing the night.  

They twist in the vapor, just ghostly at first,  
Majestic and endless, both patient and versed;  
The villagers watch with a song on their lips,  
For luck in blue shadows that sparsely eclipse.  

Their tails sketch a ribbon through silvery air,  
With breath like the coolness that hovers out there,  
Their roar’s never heard but in dreams of the child  
Who sits by the window when morning is mild.  

Blue dragons in mist are a hope and a story,  
Of wonder and magic, of peril and glory,  
Invisible mostly, until you persist—  
Then softly, they shimmer,  
Blue dragons in mist.

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