Rests four tall standing stones.
They are all that remains,
Of a once ancient and impressive monument,
Used to track the change of the season,
Used to mark the fall of the old ones.
Not only are these four stones the last standing,
But they are home to four precious eggs.
Like bone.
They sparkle in the sun,
Like rare gems.
Each egg,
Hatches,
Depending on the time of year.
From it comes a tiny,
But impressively powerful,
Baby dragon.
The Autumn Dragon has vibrant scales,
Specks of scarlet, burnt orange and citrine.
It flies across the skies,
Shedding as it goes,
Sprinkling multi-coloured flakes like snow,
Until the rest upon the ground at the feet of trees.
The Winter Dragon has a cold breath,
Chillingly frozen shards of ice that fly out.
It swoops across the skies,
Blowing as it goes,
Cool winds howling and turning all they touch,
Into white powder or shiny clear droplets in the grass.
The Spring Dragon has a warming smile,
Dazzling bright like the morning star-shine.
It flies across the skies,
Glistening as it goes,
Warming the hearts of all that see its grin,
Giving them hope and joy for the coming days.
The Summer Dragon has a fiery roar,
Burning and singeing everything around it.
It flies across the skies,
Engulfed as it goes,
Filling every ounce of the land with passion,
Bringing life and love to all who bask in it.
When time comes,
As Midsummer departs,
The Summer Dragon retreats back to the stones,
Knocks each of the egg shells clean off,
And lays four eggs.
The cycle repeats,
It never ends.