In the middle, there
Dragons circle just near enough
To stop my descent
Diary of a Death Knight
Death Knight poetry
In the middle, there
Dragons circle just near enough
To stop my descent
A memory of warmth
The brindle is now a bridle
Their name a mystery
This one is too
Sitting by rocks
Smelling nothing
No need for hounds
When there’s bit and saddle
I s’pose
I thought would be gone
This memory of warmth