To Dance the Dragons Waltz

A place and time from the back of the mind,
where terror lurks around the bend,
and magic is of thy common blend,
for which the one or many must find.

Dragons fly through out thou sky,
breathing fire upon their hated foe,
creating a deathly nightly glow,
that soon another might come to die.

Sorcerers become thy people’s protection,
even those that pronounce his profession.
For without him thy fire thus spread,
covering thy land with soulless scorched dead,
from their nightly flying sadist session.

Stab thy heart of thy mighty prey,
but only the sorcerer knows the surest way.
For his magic and potions are of thy period,
and he is the one not of fearing it,
when it comes a time for thy two to play.

The Nome's and trolls all fear his hand,
for he has thy power of peace to their land.
So they treat him with gentle aspiration,
and celebrate in gross in illation,
when the sorcerer hath come to make his stand.

And when all dragons have left thy mark,
from their fiery breath not even a spark.
The sorcerer will turn his back on thee,
not adhering to their greatest plea,
only to return again when the land burns dark.