He sleeps...

"Never Touch My Things"
as he sits there, amoung his gold
in the dark cave, musty and chilled
long claws reach before
carefully placing his riches
but warm nearest him
the gold glows with it
he sleeps, uncoinscious
knowing not that he holds his gold
treasure collected from corners
piled high to sedate him
comforting metal for unknown reasons
stilling his firey breath
as long as there is
his treasure below him
no one will die.

poem and art by and (c) to

This is my armadillo dragon. For his full description, look at him through