The Dragon

There is a small town called Snjór in Iceland. Sitting in a valley and in between two large mountains, it is usually quite peaceful. The northern mountain, Vor, is a quiet, lonely place; the people journey to the top for clean, fresh water. In spring it is covered by lovely flowers in a rainbow of different colors; autumn is a mixture of reds, yellows, oranges, and gold. The children enjoy playing on Vor, especially when the shepherd and his flock are around. The southern mountain, however, is a different story. Haust is just as beautiful as Vor. But close to the top, there is a cave where no one is allowed. There are many signs that say “Varist voldugu dreka!” Beware the mighty dragon.
The elders always speak of a time when dragons ruled the lands. “Now,” they tell, “there is only one left; a lonely dragon whose scales are the color goldenrod. It lives alone up there on the mountain, and will eat all who trespass. There was once a time when soldiers came to destroy it, but none of them ever returned.”

Do You Really Know Me?

Do you really know me?

Can you really see

The things I hide inside my heart

That make it hard to breathe?