The Last Breath

I n the emerald forest sleeps:
Underneath the branches' keep,
A dragon of the world so new
Its silver wingtips dripping dew.
His eyes are closed in peacful slumber.
His age in years knows no number.
Yet, through thick vines a poacher slips,
A triumphant gleam upon his lips.
His gun is raised; the aim is true,
Not knowing how much this day he'll rue.
And as a shot rings through the trees,
The forest warms with firey breeze.
The dragon lay slain, his last breath gone,
The final note drowned from forest song.
The earth screams out for her slain child;
This dragon gone once ruled the wild.
The forest withers, its green leaves fall;
Never will sound a bird's sweet call,
And this horrible injustice has been done,
Because of one bullet from a poacher's gun.

-Rachel B-