Fey tale

On Winter nights
The dark kin zests.
In foggy cold heights
The dragon rests.

On Spring dawns
The thin ice breaks.
Through songs of fauns,
The dragon wakes.

On Summer days
Warmth roams the skies.
While Pan's flute plays,
The dragon flies.

On Autumn dusks
The dryad cries.
Oblivion lurks,
The dragon dies.