The creature of flight

scarcely hears the night

her wings flap against the sky

whispering to a skeleton dry

her horns are stained with the color of death

and most believe her naught but a myth

climbing on a huge molten rock

in her heart, her secrets lock

near her nest, she lets a gasp

breathing fire, her voice a rasp

this man, who dare enter her domain

ought he deserve to be slain?

are we humans truly pure?

then why do we hurt those who were?

the gorgeous creature, gone with a gust

who else can we blame but us?