On wings of leather, tattered, torn,

On winds of mountains long forlorn,

On pride and power, soaring forth,

The dreaded Dragon of the North.

His scales the leaden plates of war,

His claws seen gleaming from afar,

His fangs the terror of every eye,

His tail defying the brazen sky.

He's bested many a shining knight,

He's seen through many a blazing fight,

He's felled great armies, kingdoms burned,

He's fought for years, and now he's learned.

For now he's weary, his crest has fallen,

His eyes now dreary, his flair now barren,

He's coming back from grief and sorrow,

For now he just wants to see tomorrow.

For he's seen lands across the world,

And with each visit, to him unfurled,

The searing heat of hate and spite,

Thrown without question, thrown from first sight.

They waited not for a single word,

The test, for them, was with a sword,

They gave no quarter to his intent,

"The beast must fall," on this they're bent.

Who knows what the Dragon had in mind,

When he roared out loud, when he left behind,

That last fight without bathing in endless fire,

The men who would have earned his ire.

He simply turned, and took his flight,

Against the moon, on that clear night,

Vowing to leave behind this life,

Of constant, never-ending strife.

And far from the eyes of man he flew,

To distant lands, wherefore, who knew?

Perhaps his twilight years to spend,

With that enigma, what man calls "friend".

On wings of leather, tattered, torn,

On winds of mountains long forlorn,

One creatures silently trudges forth,

The weary Dragon of the North!